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The Door 






PZ2 

. |V) 445 

)Vld-^ 


Copyright, 1910, by 

THE PEARSON PUBLISHING CO. 

Entered at Stationers’ Hall 
London, England 

Bequest 

Albert Adsit Olemona 
Aug. 24, 1938 
(Not a via liable for o^chatlgd) 


Typography, Plates, Presswork and Binding by 
The J. J. Little dr* Ives Co., New York. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


AIoiron .... 






The Legend of Mont St. Michel . 




. II 

A Husband's Confession 





• 17 

The Fathers 





. 27 

On Cats .... 





. 34 

AIadame Parisse 





. 43 

The Penguin's Rock 





. 54 

Martine .... 





. 61 

A Sale .... 





. 70 

T HE Odyssey of an Outcast 





. 79 

Bombard .... 





. 88 

His Confession 





. 96 

Mademoiselle Cocotte 





. 106 

Rustic Tribunals 





• 113 

A Stroll .... 





. 119 

The Door .... 





. 127 

The Night of the Wedding 





• 135 

The Revenge 





. 143 

The Woodcocks 





. 151 

On the Railway 





. 162 


IV 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Madame Baptiste 171 

A Warning Note 180 

Joseph 190 

The Peddler 199 

A Philosopher 210 

What was Really the Matter with Andrew . . 220 

Christmas Eve 228 

Words of Love 235 

The Substitute 240 

The Cake 246 

The Awakening 253 

An Adventure in Paris 260 

The Bed 270 

The Rival Pins ' . 274 

The Twenty-five Francs of the Mother Superior . 282 

The Confession 290 

A Father's Confession 297 

Hope 304 


MOIRON 


A S we were still talking about Pranzini, M. 
Maloureau, who had been Attorney Gen- 
eral under the Empire, said : Oh ! I for- 
merly knew a very curious affair, curious for sev- 
eral reasons, as you will see. 

“ I was at that time Imperial Attorney in one of 
the provinces. I had to take up the case which has 
remained famous under the name of the Moiron 
case. 

“ Monsieur Moiron, who was a teacher in the 
North of France, enjoyed an excellent reputation 
throughout the whole country. He was a person of 
intelligence, quiet, very religious, a little taciturn; 
he had married in the District of Boislinot, where 
he exercised his profession. He had had three chil- 
dren, and each one of them had died from lung 
disease. From this time he seemed to bestow upon 
the youngsters confided to his care all the tender- 
ness of his heart. With his own money he bought 
toys for his best scholars and for the good boys ; he 
gave them little dinners and stuffed them with deli- 
cacies, sweet things and cakes. Everybody loved 
this good man with such a big heart, when sud- 
denly, in a strange manner, five of his pupils died, 


2 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


one after the other. People looked for an epidemic 
in the water resulting from the drought ; they 
looked for the causes without being able to discover 
them, the more so that the symptoms were so 
strange. The children seemed to be attacked by a 
languishing sickness ; they would no longer eat, 
they complained of pains in their stomachs, dragged 
along for a short time, and died in frightful suffer- 
ing. 

A post-mortem examination was held over the 
last one, but nothing was found. The vitals were 
sent to Paris and analyzed, and they revealed the 
presence of no toxic substance. 

“ For a year nothing new developed ; then two 
little boys, the best scholars in the class, Moiron’s 
favourites, died within four days of each other. An 
examination of the bodies was again ordered, and 
in both of them were discovered tiny fragments of 
crushed glass. The conclusion arrived at was that 
the two youngsters must imprudently have eaten 
from some carelessly cleaned receptacle. A glass 
broken over a pail of milk could have produced this 
frightful accident, and the af¥air would have been 
pushed no further if Moiron’s servant had not been 
taken sick at this time. The physician who was 
called in noticed the same symptoms he had seen 
in the children. He questioned her and obtained 
the admission that she had stolen and eaten some 
confections that had been bought by the teacher 
for his scholars. 

“ On an order from the court the schoolhouse 
was searched, and a closet was found which was 


MOIRON 


3 


full of toys and dainties destined for the children. 
Almost all these delicacies contained bits of crushed 
glass or pieces of broken needles ! 

“ Moiron was immediately arrested ; but he 
seemed so astonished and indignant at the suspicion 
hanging over him that he was almost released. 
However, indications of his guilt kept appearing, 
and I struggled in my mind with my first convic- 
tion, based on his excellent reputation, on his whole 
life, on the complete absence of any motives for 
such a crime. 

“ Why should this good, simple, religious man 
have killed children, and the very children whom he 
seemed to love the most, whom he spoiled and 
stuffed with sweet things, for whom he spent half 
his salary in buying toys and bonbons? 

“ One must believe him insane in order to think 
him guilty of this act. Now, Moiron seemed so 
normal, so quiet, so full of reason and common 
sense that it seemed impossible he should be 
touched by madness. 

“ However, the proofs kept growing ! In none 
of the sweets that were bought at the places where 
the schoolmaster secured his provisions could the 
slightest fragment of anything suspicious be found. 

He then pretended that an unknown enemy 
must have opened his cupboard with a false key in 
order to introduce the glass and the needles into 
the eatables. And he imagined the whole story of 
an inheritance depending upon the death of a child, 
looked for by some peasant, and obtained thus, by 
casting suspicions on the schoolmaster. This brute. 


4 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


he claimed, did not care about the other children 
who were thus forced to die. 

“ The story was possible. The man appeared to 
be so sure of himself and in such despair that we 
should undoubtedly have acquitted him, notwith- 
standing the charges against him, if two crush- 
ing discoveries had not been made, one after the 
other. 

“ The first one was a snuffbox full of crushed 
glass ; his own snuffbox, hidden in the desk where 
he kept his money! 

“ He explained this new find in an acceptable 
manner, as the ruse of the real unknown criminal. 
But a mercer from Saint-Marlof came to the pre- 
siding judge and said that a gentleman had several 
times come to his store to buy some needles; and 
he always asked for the thinnest needles he could 
find, and would break them to see whether they 
pleased him. The man was brought forward in the 
presence of a dozen or more persons, and immedi- 
ately recognized Moiron. The inquest revealed that 
the schoolmaster had indeed gone into Saint-Marlof 
on the days mentioned by the tradesman. 

“ I will pass over the terrible testimony of chil- 
dren on the choice of dainties and the care which 
he took to have them eat the things before him, and 
to do away with the slightest trace. 

“ Public opinion became exasperated, and de- 
manded capital punishment, and it became more and 
more insistent. 

“ Moiron was condemned to death, and his ap- 
peal was rejected. Nothing was left for him but 


MOIRON 


5 


the imperial pardon. I knew through my father 
that the Emperor would not grant it. 

“ One morning, as I was walking in my study, 
the visit of the prison almoner was announced. He 
was an old priest who knew men well and under- 
stood the habits of criminals. He seemed troubled, 
ill at ease, nervous. After talking for a few min- 
utes about one thing and another, he arose and said 
suddenly : ‘If Moiron is executed. Monsieur, you 
will have killed an innocent man.’ 

“ Then he left without bowing, leaving behind 
him a deep impression with his words. He had 
pronounced them in such a sincere and solemn man- 
ner, opening, in order to save a life, these lips 
closed and sealed by the secret of confession. 

“ An hour later I left for Paris, and my father 
immediately asked that I be granted an audience 
with the Emperor. 

“ The following day I was received. His Maj- 
esty was working in a little study when we were 
introduced. I exposed the whole affair, and I was 
just telling about the priest’s visit when a door 
opened behind the sovereign’s chair and the Em- 
press, who thought him alone, ’appeared. His Maj- 
esty, Napoleon, consulted her. As soon as she had 
heard the matter, she exclaimed : ‘ Since this man 
is innocent, he must be pardoned.’ 

“ Why did this sudden conviction of a religious 
woman cast a terrible doubt in my mind? 

“ Until then I had ardently desired a change of 
sentence. And now I suddenly felt myself the toy, 
the dupe of a cunning criminal who had employed 


6 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


the priest and confession as a last means of de- 
fense. 

“ I explained my hesitancy to their Majesties. 
The Emperor remained undecided, urged on one 
side by his natural kindness, and held back on the 
other by the fear of being deceived by a criminal ; 
but the Empress, who was convinced that the priest 
had obeyed a divine inspiration, kept repeating: 
‘ Never mind ! It is better to spare a criminal than 
to kill an innocent man ! ’ Her advice was taken. 
The death sentence was commuted to one of hard 
labour. 

“ A few years later I heard that Moiron had 
again been called to the Emperor’s attention on ac- 
count of his exemplary conduct in the prison at 
Toulon, and was now employed as a servant by the 
director of the penitentiary. 

‘‘For a long time I heard nothing more of this 
man. 

“ But about two years ago, while I was spending 
a summer near Lille with my cousin, De Larielle, I 
was informed one evening, just as we were sitting 
down to dinner, that a young priest wished to speak 
to me. 

“ I had him shown in and he begged me to come 
to a dying man who desired absolutely to see me. 
This had often happened to me in my long career 
as a magistrate, and, although set aside by the Re- 
public, I was still often called upon in similar cir- 
cumstances. I, therefore, followed the priest, who 
led me to a miserable little room in a large tene- 
ment house. 


MOIRON 


7 


“ There I found a strange-looking man reclining 
on a bed of straw, with his back to the wall, in order 
better to breathe. He was a sort of skeleton, with 
dark, gleaming eyes. 

“ As soon as he saw me, he murmured : * Don’t 
you recognize me ? ’ 

‘ No.’ 

‘ I am Moiron.’ 

“ I felt a shiver run through me, and I asked : 
‘ The schoolmaster ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes.’ 

‘ How do you happen to be here ? ’ 

' That story is too long, I haven’t time to tell 
it. . . I was going to die . . . and that 

priest was brought to me . . . and as I knew 

that you were here I sent for you. . . . It is 

to you that I wish to confess . . . since you 

were the one who saved my life . . . for- 

merly.’ 

“ His hands contracted over the straw of his 
bed; and he continued in a hoarse, energetic, and 
low voice : ‘You see ... I owe you the truth 
. . . I owe it to you ... for it must be 

told to some one before I leave this earth. 

“ ‘ It is I who killed the children ... all of 

them . . I did it . . . for revenge ! 

“ ‘ Listen. I was an honest, straightforward, 
pure man . . . adoring God . . . this 

good Father . . . this Master who teaches us 

to love, and not the false God, the executioner, the 
robber, the murderer who governs the earth. I 
had never done any harm, I had never committed 


8 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


an evil act. I was as good as it is possible to be, 
Monsieur. 

‘ I married and had children, and I loved them 
as no father or mother ever loved their children. I 
lived only for them. I was wild about them. All 
three of them died ! Why ? why ? What had I 
done? I felt revolted, furious; and suddenly my 
eyes were opened as if I were waking up out of a 
sleep ; I understood that God is bad. Why had He 
killed my children? I opened my eyes and saw 
that He loves to kill. He loves only that. Monsieur. 
He gives life but to destroy it ! God, Monsieur, is a 
murderer ! He needs death every day. And He 
makes it in every variety, in order better to be 
amused. He has invented sickness and accidents in 
order to give Him diversion over the winter months 
and through the years ; and when He grows tired of 
this. He has epidemics, the pest, cholera, diphtheria, 
smallpox, everything possible! But this does not 
satisfy Him ; all these things are too similar ; and so 
from time to time He has wars, in order to see two 
hundred thousand soldiers killed at once, crushed 
in blood and in the mud, gutted, their arms and legs 
torn off, their heads smashed by bullets, like eggs 
falling on the pavement. 

“ ‘ But this is not all. He has made men who 
eat each other. And then, as men become better 
than He, He has made beasts, in order to see men 
hunt them, kill, and eat them. That is not all. He 
has made tiny little animals which live one day, 
flies who die by the millions in one hour, ants which 
we are continually crushing under our feet, and so 


MOIRON 


9 


many, many others that we cannot even imagine. 
And all these things are continually killing each 
other and dying. And the good Lord looks on and 
is amused, for He sees everything, the big ones as 
well as the little ones, those who are in the drops 
of water and those in the other firmaments. He 
watches them and is amused. Wretch! 

“ ' Then, Monsieur, I began to kill children. I 
played a trick on Him. He did not get those, it 
was I who did. Not He, but 1 1 And I would have 
killed many others, but you caught me. There ! 

' I was to be executed. I ! How He would 
have laughed ! Then I asked for a priest, and I lied. 
I confessed. I lied and I lived. 

‘ Now, all is over. I can no longer escape from 
Him. I no longer fear Him, Monsieur, I despise 
Him too much.’ 

“ This poor wretch was frightful to see as he lay 
there gasping, opening an enormous mouth in order 
to let out words which could scarcely be heard, 
choking and spitting, picking at his bed and kicking 
around under a filthy sheet as though trying to es- 
cape. 

“ Oh I Even the memory of it is frightful ! 

“ I asked him : ‘You have nothing more to 
say? ’ 

“ ‘ No, Monsieur.’ 

“ ‘ Then, farewell.’ 

“ ‘ Farewell, Monsieur, till some day. . . .’ 

“ I turned to the ashen-faced priest, whose dark 
outline stood out against the wall, and asked. ‘ Are 
you going to stay here. Monsieur I’Abbe?’ 


10 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ ‘ Yes/ 

“ Then the dying man cackled : ‘Yes, yes, he 
sends the vultures to the corpses/ 

“ I had had enough of this ; I opened the door 
and ran away/^ 


THE LEGEND OF MONT SAINT-MICHEL 


1 HAD first seen this fairy-like castle in the sea 
from Cancale. It had looked to me like a con- 
fused mass, like a gray shadow rising in the 
foggy sky. I saw it again from Avranche at sunset. 
The immense stretch of sand was red, the horizon 
was red, the whole boundless bay was red; alone, 
the castle, growing out there in the distance like 
a fantastic manor, like a dream palace, strange and 
beautiful — this alone remained almost black in the 
brilliancy of the dying day. 

The following morning at dawn I went toward 
it across the sands. My eyes fastened on this gi- 
gantic jewel, as big as a mountain, cut like a cameo, 
and as dainty as lace. The nearer I approached the 
greater my admiration grew, for nothing in the 
world could be more wonderful or more perfect. 

As surprised as if I had discovered the habitation 
of a god, I wandered through those halls supported 
by frail or massive columns, raising my eyes in 
wonder to those spires which looked like rockets 
starting for the sky, and to that incredible crowd of 
towers, of gargoyles, of slender and charming orna- 
ments, a regular fireworks of stone, granite lace, a 
masterpiece of colossal and delicate architecture. 

As I was looking up in ecstasy, a Lower Nor- 


12 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


mandy peasant came up to me and told me the 
story of the great quarrel between Saint Michel and 
the Devil. 

A sceptical genius has said : God made man 

in His image ; man has returned the compliment.” 

This saying is an eternal truth, and it would be 
very curious to write the history of the local divin- 
ity on every continent, as well as the history of the 
patron saints in each one of the provinces. The 
negro has his ferocious man-eating idols ; the polyg- 
amous Mahometan fills his paradise with women ; 
the Greeks, like a practical people, have deified all 
the passions. 

Every village in France is under the influence of 
some protecting saint, modelled according to the 
characteristics of the inhabitants. 

Saint Michel w^atches over Lower Normandy, 
Saint Michel, the radiant and victorious angel, the 
sword-carrier, the hero of Heaven, the victorious, 
the conqueror of Satan. 

But this is how the Lower Normandy peasant, 
cunning, underhanded, and tricky, understands and 
tells of the struggle between the great Saint and 
the Devil. 

To escape from the malice of his neighbour the 
Demon, Saint Michel built himself, in the open 
ocean, this habitation worthy of an archangel; and 
only such a saint could build a residence of such 
magnificence. 

But, as he still feared the approaches of the 
Wicked One, he surrounded his domains by quick- 
sands, more treacherous even than water. 


THE LEGEND OF MONT SAINT-MICHEL 


13 


The Devil lived in a humble cottage oft the hill ; 
but he owfted all the salt marshes, the rich lands 
where grow the finest crops, the wooded valleys, 
and all the fertile hills of the country ; but the Saint 
ruled only over the sands. Therefore Satan was 
rich, whereas Saint Michel was as poor as a church 
mouse. 

After a few years of fasting the Saint grew tired 
of this state of affairs, and began to think of some 
compromise with the Devil; but the matter was by 
no means easy, as Satan kept a good hold on his 
crops. 

He thought the thing over for about six months ; 
then one morning he set out for land. The Demon 
was eating his soup in front of his door when he 
saw the Saint; he immediately rushed toward him, 
kissed the hem of his sleeve, invited him in, and 
offered him refreshments. 

Saint Michel drank a bowl of milk and then be- 
gan : “ I have come here to propose to you a good 
bargain.” 

The Devil, candid and trustful, answered : 

Very well.” 

“ Here it is. Give me all your lands.” 

Sp.tan, growing alarmed, wished to speak : 

But ” 

Tiie Saint continued : “ Listen first. Give me 

all your lands. I will take care of all the work, the 
plowing, the sowing, the fertilizing, everything, and 
we will share the crops equally. How does that suit 
you ? ” 

The Devil, who was naturally lazy, accepted. He 




GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


only asked in addition for a few of those delicious 
surmullets which can be caught around the solitary 
mountain. Saint Michel promised the fish. 

They shook hands and spat to show that it was 
a bargain, and the Saint continued : “ Here, so 

that you will have nothing to complain of, choose 
that part of the crops which you prefer : that which 
will be above ground, or in the ground. Satan cried 
out : “ I choose all that will be above ground.” 

“ It’s a bargain ! ” said the Saint. And he went 
away. 

Six months later, all over the immense domain 
of the Devil, one could see nothing but carrots, tur- 
nips, onions, salsify, all the plants whose juicy roots 
are good and savoury, and whose useless leaves are 
good for nothing but for feeding* animals. 

Satan wished to break the contract, calling Saint 
Michel a swindler. 

But the Saint, who had developed quite a taste 
lor agriculture, went back to see the Devil, and 
said : “ Really, I hadn’t thought of that at all ; it 

was just an accident, no fault of mine. And to 
make things fair with you, this year I’ll let you take 
everything that is under the ground.” 

“ Very well,” answered Satan. 

The following spring, all the Evil Spirit’s lands 
were covered with golden wheat, oats as big as 
beans, linseed, magnificent colzas, red clover, peas, 
cabbage, artichokes, everything that blossoms into 
grains or fruit in the sunlight. 

Once more Satan received nothing, and this time 
he completely lost his temper. He took back his 


THE LEGEND OF MONT SAINT-MICHEL 1 $ 

fields and remained deaf to all the new propositions 
of his neighbour. 

A whole year rolled by. From the top of his 
lonely manor, Saint Michel looked at the distant 
and fertile lands, and watched the Devil direct the- 
work, take in his crops, and thresh the wheat. And 
he grew angry, exasperated at his powerlessness.. 
As he was no longer able to deceive Satan, he de- 
cided to wreak vengeance on him, and he went out 
to invite him to dinner for the following Monday. 

“ You have been very unfortunate in your deal- 
ings with me,’' he said ; I know it ; but I don’t 
want any ill feeling between us, and I expect you to 
dine with me. I’ll give you some good things to eat.”' 

Satan, who was as greedy as he was lazy, ac- 
cepted eagerly. On the day which had been de- 
cided on, he donned his finest clothes and set out 
for the castle. 

Saint Michel sat him down to a magnificent meal.. 
First there was a vol-aii-vent , full of cocks’ crests- 
and kidneys, with meat-balls, then two big surmul- 
lets with cream sauce, a turkey stuffed with chest- 
nuts soaked in wine, some salt-marsh lamb as ten- 
der as possible, vegetables which melted in the 
mouth, and nice warm cake which was brought on 
smoking and spreading a delicious odour of butter. 

They drank hard and sparkling cider, and red 
wine both flat and sparkling, and after each course 
more room was made with some old apple brandy. 

The Devil drank and ate to his heart’s content; 
in fact, he took so much that he found himself in- 
convenienced. 


l6 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

Then Saint Michel arose in anger, and cried, in 
a voice like thunder : “ What ! before me, rascal ! 

you dare — before me ” 

Satan, terrified, ran away, and the Saint, seizing 
a stick, pursued him. They ran around through 
the halls, turning around the pillars, running up the 
staircases, galloping along the cornices, jumping 
from gargoyle to gargoyle. The poor Demon, who 
was woefully ill, was running about madly and 
soiling the Saint’s home. At last he found himself 
at the top of the last terrace, from which could be 
seen the immense bay, with its distant cities, sands, 
and passages. He could no longer escape, and the 
Saint came up behind him and gave him a furious 
kick, which shot him through space like a cannon- 
ball. 

He shot through the air like a javelin and fell 
heavily before the town of Mortain. His horns and 
claws stuck deep into the rock, which keeps through 
eternity the traces of this fall of Satan’s. 

He stood up again, limping, crippled until the 
end of time, and as he looked at this fatal castle 
in the distance, standing out against the setting sun, 
he understood well that he would always be van- 
quished in this unequal struggle ; and he went away 
limping, heading for distant countries, leaving to 
his enemy his fields, his hills, his valleys, and his 
marshes. 

And this is how Saint Michel, the patron saint of 
Normandy, vanquished the Devil. 

Another people would have dreamed of this battle 
in an entirely different manner. 


A HUSBAND’S CONFESSION 


W HEN Captain Hector-Marie de Fontenne 
married Mademoiselle Laurine d’Estelle, 
their relations and friends thought it 
would be an unhappy marriage. 

Mademoiselle Laurine, pretty, slender, fair, and 
bold, at twelve years of age had as much self-assur- 
ance as a woman of thirty. She was one of those 
little precocious Parisiennes who seem to be born 
with all the worldly wisdom, all the little feminine 
tricks, all the emancipation of ideas, with that as- 
tuteness and suppleness of mind that seems to in- 
evitably predestinate certain individuals in what- 
ever they do to trick and deceive others. All their 
actions seem premeditated, all their proceedings a 
matter of calculation, all their words carefully 
weighed ; their existence is only a part they play in 
a drama. 

She was also charming; laughed readily, so read- 
ily that she could not restrain herself when a thing 
seemed amusing and humourous. She would laugh 
right in a person’s face in the most impudent man- 
ner, but she did it so gracefully that no one ever 
grew angry. 

She was rich, very rich. A priest served as go- 


l8 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

between in arranging her marriage with Captain de 
Fontenne. Brought up in a monastery in the most 
austere manner, this officer had taken with him into 
his regiment his monastic manners, very rigid prin- 
ciples, and absolute intolerance. He was one of 
those men who invariably become either saints or 
nihilists ; men who are absolutely dominated by an 
ideal, whose beliefs are inflexible and their deter- 
mination immovable. 

He was a big, dark-haired young fellow, serious, 
severe, with an ingenuous mind, decided and obsti- 
nate, one of those men who pass through life with- 
out ever understanding its hidden meaning, its 
shadings and subtleties, who guess at nothing, sus- 
pect nothing, and will not allow any one to think 
differently, form a different opinion, believe or act 
differently from themselves. 

Mademoiselle Laurine saw him, read his charac- 
ter at once, and accepted him as her husband. 

They got along splendidly together. She was 
yielding, clever, and sensible, knowing how to act 
fier part, and always ready to assist in good works, 
and on the occasion of festivals a constant attendant 
at church and at the theatre, worldly and strict, 
with a little ironical look, a twinkle in her eye when 
she chatted gravely with her husband. She told 
him about her charitable undertakings in associa- 
tion with all the priests of the parish and the en- 
virons, and she took advantage of this pious occu- 
pation to stay out of doors from morning till 
night. 

But sometimes, in the midst of telling him about 


A husband's confession 19 

some act of charity, she would suddenly go off into 
an idiotic laugh, a nervous laugh that she could not 
restrain. The captain was surprised, perplexed, a 
little shocked at seeing his wife suffocating with 
laughter. When she quieted down a little he asked : 
“ What is the matter with you, Laurine ? ” She re- 
plied : “Nothing! I just happened to remember 
something funny that occurred.” And she told him 
some story or other. 

Well, in the summer of 1883 Captain Hector de 
Fontenne took part in the grand manoeuvres of the 
Thirty-second Army Corps. 

One evening, as they were encamped on the out- 
skirts of a town, after ten days of tenting in the 
open field, ten days of fatigue and privations, the 
captain's comrades determined to have a good din- 
ner. 

Monsieur de Fontenne refused at first to form 
one of the party; then, as they seemed surprised at 
his refusal, he consented. 

His neighbour at table. Commandant de Favre, 
while chatting about military operations, the only 
thing that interested the captain, kept filling up his 
glass with wine. It had been a very warm day, a 
heavy, dry heat that made one thirsty, and the cap- 
tain drank without thinking, without noticing that 
gradually he was becoming filled with fresh vivac- 
ity, with a certain ardent joy, a happiness full of 
awakened desires, of unknown appetites, of vague 
hopes. 

At dessert he was intoxicated. He talked, 
laughed, became restless, noisily drunk, with the 


20 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


mad drunkenness of a man who is habitually quiet 
and sober. 

It was proposed that they should finish up the 
evening at the theatre. He accompanied his friends. 
One of them recognized an actress whom he had 
been in love with, and they arranged a supper at 
which were present some of the actresses of the 
company. 

The following day the captain awoke in a strange 
room, and a little, fair woman said, as she saw him 
open his eyes : 

“Good morning, mon gros chat!'* 

He did not understand at first. Then, little by 
little, his memory returned, although it was a little 
indistinct. 

Then he got up, without saying a word, dressed, 
and left the room, after emptying his purse out on 
the mantelpiece. 

He was filled with shame when he stood up in 
his uniform, with his sword at his side, in this fur- 
nished room with its rumpled curtains, its shabby 
couch, and he was afraid to leave and go down the 
stairs, where he might meet the janitor, and, above 
all, he hated to go into the street where the neigh- 
bours and passers-by would see him. 

The woman kept repeating : “ What has hap- 

pened to you? Have you lost your tongue? It 
was hung on wires last night, however! What a 
face!” 

He bowed stiffly, and, having decided that he 
would leave the house, he returned home at a rapid 
pace, feeling convinced that every one could tell 


A husband's confession 


21 


from his manner, his behaviour, his face, where he 
had been. 

He was filled with remorse, the tormenting re- 
morse of an upright, scrupulous man. 

He went to confession, took communion; but he 
was ill at ease, haunted by the remembrance of his 
fall and by the feeling of an indebtedness, a sacred 
indebtedness contracted against his wife. 

He did not see her for a month, as she had gone 
to stay with her parents while the manoeuvres lasted. 

She came to him with open arms, a smile on her 
lips. He welcomed her with an embarrassed and 
guilty air, and avoided almost all conversation with 
her until evening. 

As soon as they were alone she said : 

“ What is the matter with you, mon amif I 
think you have changed very much.” 

“ Nothing is the matter with me, my dear, abso- 
lutely nothing.” 

Excuse me, I know you well, and I am sure 
that there is something, some anxiety, some sorrow, 
some annoyance, I know not what.” 

“ Well, then, yes. I have some anxiety.” 

Ah ! what is it? ” 

“ I cannot possibly tell you.” 

” Not tell me! Why? You make me uneasy.” 

“ I can give you no reason. It is impossible for 
me to tell you.” 

She had sat down on a causeuse, and he was 
walking up and down the room, his hands behind 
his back, and avoided looking at his wife. She con- 
tinued : 


22 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


Well, then, I shall have to make you confess ; it 
is my duty, and I shall exact from you the truth ; it 
is my right. You can no more have a secret from 
me than I can have one from you.” 

He said, as he turned his back to her and stood 
framed in the long window : 

‘‘ My dear, there are certain things it is best 
not to tell. This thing that worries me is one of 

them. ” 

She rose, walked across the room, and, taking 
him by the arm, made him turn round facing her; 

then, putting her two hands on his shoulders and 
smiling, she looked up in a caressing manner and 
said : 

“Come, Marie” (she called him Marie in mo- 
ments of tenderness), “you cannot hide anything 
from me. I shall imagine that you have done some- 
thing wrong.” 

“ I have done something very wrong,” he mur- 
mured. 

“ Oh, is it as bad as that ? ” she said gayly. “ As 
bad as that ? I am very much astonished at you ! ” 

“ I will not tell you any more,” he replied, with 
annoyance ; “ it is useless to insist.” 

But she drew him down on the armchair and 
made him sit down, while she sat on his right knee 
and gave him a little light kiss, a quick, flying kiss, 
on the curled tip of his moustache. 

“ If you will not tell me anything, we shall al- 
ways be bad friends,” she said. 

Distracted with remorse and tortured with re- 
gret, he murmured: 


A husband's confession 


23 


“ If I should tell you what I had done you would 
never forgive me.” 

“ On the contrary, mon ami, I should forgive you 
at once.” 

“ No, that is not possible.” 

'' I swear I will forgive you.” 

No, my dear Laurine, you never could.” 

“ How simple you are, mon ami, not to say silly ! 
In refusing to tell me what you have done you allow, 
me to believe all sorts of abominable things; and I 
shall always be thinking of it, and be as much an- 
noyed at your silence as at your unlgaown guilt. 
But if you were to speak to me frankly I should 
forget all about it by to-morrow.” 

“ Well, then . . 

What?” 

He reddened up to his ears, and said in a serious 
tone: 

“ I am going to confess to you as if I were con- 
fessing to a priest, Laurine.” 

The fleeting smile with which she sometimes lis- 
tened to him now came to her lips, and she said, in 
a slightly mocking tone : 

I am all ears.” 

“ You know, my dear,” he resumed, “ how sober 
I am. I never drink anything but water coloured 
with wine, and never any liqueurs, as you know.” 

Yes, I know.” 

“ Well, then, just imagine that at the end of the 
grand manoeuvres I forgot myself, and drank a 
little one evening, as I was very thirsty, very tired, 
very exhausted, and . . .” 


24 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


You became intoxicated ? Fie, that was very 
bad ! 

Yes, I became intoxicated.’^ 

She had assumed a severe look. 

Come, now, quite drunk, acknowledge it ; so 
drunk you could not walk, tell the truth ! ” 

“ Oh, no ; not as bad as that. I had lost my rea- 
son, but not my equilibrium. I chattered, I laughed, 
I was crazy.” 

He was silent, and she said : 

Is that all?” 

No.” ^ 

‘^Oh! And then?” 

“ And then . . . I . . . did something 

disgraceful.” 

She looked at him, uneasy, a little disturbed and 
also touched. 

** What was it, mon ami? ” 

■‘We had supper — with some actresses — and I 
do not know how it happened, but I was untrue to 
you, Laurine ! ” 

He said all this in a solemn, serious tone. 

She was slightly amazed, but her eye lighted 
up with sudden, intense, irresistible mirth. She 
said : 

“ You — you — you ” 

And a little, dry, nervous, spasmodic laugh es- 
caped her lips, interrupting her speech. 

She tried to be serious ; but each time she tried to 
utter a word a laugh began in her throat, was 
choked back, and came up again like the efferves- 
cence in a bottle of champagne that is just uncorked. 


A husband’s confession 


25 


She put her hand to her mouth to calm herself, to 
keep back this untimely mirth ; but her laughter ran 
through her fingers, shook her chest, and escaped 
in spite of herself. She stuttered : 

“ You — you — deceived me ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! — 
ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 

And she looked at him in a peculiar manner, 
with such a sneering expression that he was 
amazed, astonished. 

Then, all at once, no longer restraining herself, 
she burst out laughing as if she had a nervous at- 
tack. She uttered little, short screams, which 
seemed to come from the bottom of her chest ; and, 
placing her hands over her stomach, she gave way 
to long spasms of laughter, till she almost choked, 
just like spasms in whooping cough. And each time 
she tried to check them she laughed all the more, 
each word she tried to utter giving her a fresh 
spasm. 

“ My — my — my — poor friend . . . ha ! ha ! 

ha ! . . . ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 

He rose, leaving her seated in the chair, and, 
suddenly turning very pale, he said : 

“ Laurine, your behaviour is more than unbecom- 
ing.” 

She stuttered in the midst of her laughter: 

“ How — how can I — I — I help it . . . how 

funny you are — ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 

He became livid with anger, and looked at her 
now with a steady gaze in which a strange thought 
seemed to be awakened. All at once he opened 
his mouth, as if to say something, but said nothing. 


26 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


and, turning on his heel, he went out, shutting the 
door behind him. 

Laurine, bent double, exhausted and weak, was 
still laughing, with a faint laugh that revived every 
few moments like the embers of a fire that has al- 
most burned out. 


THE FATHERS 


I HAVE a friend, Jean de Valnoix, whom I visit 
from time to time. He lives in a little cottage 
in the woods at the edge of a river. He retired 
from Paris after leading a wild life for fifteen years. 
Suddenly he had enough of pleasures, dinners, men, 
women, cards, everything; and he came to live in 
this little place where he had been born. 

There are two or three of us who go, from time 
to time, to spend a few weeks with him. He is cer- 
tainly delighted to see us when we arrive, and 
pleased to be alone again when we leave. 

I went to see him last week, and he received me 
with open arms. We would spend hours at a time, 
sometimes together, sometimes alone. Usually he 
reads and I work during the daytime, and every 
evening we talk until midnight. 

Well, last Tuesday, after a scorching day, toward 
nine o’clock in the evening we were both of us sit- 
ting and watching the water flow at our feet; we 
were exchanging very vague ideas about the stars 
which were bathing in the current and which 
seemed to swim along ahead of us. Our ideas were 
very vague, confused, and brief, for our minds are 
very limited, weak, and powerless. I was expatiat- 


28 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


ing on the sun which dies in the Great Bear. One 
can only see it on very clear nights, it is so pale. 
When the sky is the least bit clouded it disappears. 
We were thinking of the creatures which people 
these worlds, of their possible forms, of their un- 
thinkable faculties and unknown organs, of the ani- 
mals and plants of every kind, of all the things 
which man’s dreams can barely touch. 

Suddenly a voice called from the distance : 
“ Monsieur, Monsieur ! ” 

Jean answered : “ Here I am, Baptiste ! ” 

When the servant had found us he announced : 
“ It’s Monsieur’s gypsy.” 

My friend burst out laughing, a thing which he 
rarely did, then he asked : “ Is to-day the nine- 

teenth of July?” 

“ Yes, Monsieur.” 

Very well. Tell her to wait for me. Give her 
some supper. I’ll see her in ten minutes.” 

When the man had disappeared my friend took 
me by the arm, saying : “ Let us walk along slowly, 
while I tell you this story. 

“ Seven years ago, when I arrived here, I went 
out one evening to take a walk in the forest. It 
was a beautiful day, like to-day, and I was walking 
along slowly under the great trees, looking at the 
stars through the leaves, drinking in the quiet rest- 
fulness of night and the forest. 

I had just left Paris forever. I was tired out, 
more disgusted than I can say by all the foolish, 
low, and nasty things which I had seen and in 
which I had participated for fifteen years. 


THE FATHERS 


29 


“ I walked along for a great distance in this 
deep forest, following a path which leads to the 
village of Crouzille, about eight miles from here. 

Suddenly my dog, a great St. Bernard, which 
never left me, stopped short and began to growl. I 
thought that perhaps a fox, a wolf, or a boar might 
be in the neighbourhood ; I advanced gently on tip- 
toe, in order to make no noise, but suddenly I heard 
mournful, human cries, piercing yet muffled. I 
thought that surely some one was committing mur- 
der, and I rushed forward, taking a tight grip on 
my heavy oak cane, a regular club. 

I was coming nearer to the moans, which now 
became more distinct, but strangely muffled. One 
might have thought that they were coming from 
some house, perhaps from the hut of some charcoal 
burner. Three feet ahead of me Bock was running, 
stopping, barking, starting again, very excited, and 
always growling. Suddenly another dog, a big 
black one with snapping eyes, barred our progress. 
I could clearly see his white fangs, which seemed 
to be shining in his mouth. 

“ I ran toward him with uplifted cane, but Bock 
had already jumped, and the two beasts were roll- 
ing around the ground with their teeth buried in 
each other. I went past them and almost bumped 
into a horse lying in the road. As I stopped, in 
surprise, to examine the animal, I saw in front of 
me a wagon, or, rather, a rolling house, such as are 
inhabited by gypsies and the travelling merchants 
who go from fair to fair. 

The cries were coming from there, frightful 


30 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


and continuous. As the door opened from the other 
side I turned around this vehicle and rushed up 
the three wooden steps, ready to jump on the male- 
factor. 

“ What I saw seemed so strange to me that I 
could at first understand nothing. A man was 
kneeling, and seemed to be praying, while in the 
bed something impossible to recognize, a half- 
naked creature, whose face I could not see, was 
moving, twisting about, and howling. It was a 
woman in labour. 

“ As soon as I understood the kind of an acci- 
dent which was the cause of these screams, I made 
my presence known, and the man, wild with grief, 
begged me to save him, to save her, promising to 
me an unbelievable thankfulness. I had never seen 
a birth ; I had never helped a female creature, 
woman, dog, or cat, in such a circumstance, and I 
said so as I foolishly watched this thing which was 
screaming so in the bed. 

“ Then I gathered my wits again, and I asked 
the grief-stricken man why he did not go to the 
next village. It seems that his horse had stepped 
into a rut and had broken part of his leg. 

“ ‘ Well, my man,’ I exclaimed, ‘ there are two 
of us now, and we will drag your wife to my 
house.’ 

But the howling dogs forced us to go outside, 
and we had to separate them by beating them with 
our sticks, at the risk of killing them. Then the 
idea struck me to harness them with us, one to the 
right and the other to the left, in order to help us. 


THE FATHERS 


31 


In ten minutes everything was ready, and the 
wagon started forward slowly, shaking the poor, 
suffering woman each time it would bump over a rut. 

“Such a road, my friend! We were going 
along, panting, perspiring, slipping, and falling, 
while our poor dogs puffed along beside us. 

“ It took three hours to reach the cottage. When 
we arrived before the door the cries from the wagon 
had ceased. Mother and child were getting along 
well. 

“ They were put to bed, and then I had a horse 
harnessed up in order to go for a physician, while 
the man, an inhabitant of Marseilles, reassured, 
consoled, glorying, was stuffing himself with food 
and getting drunk in order to celebrate this happy 
birth. 

“ It was a girl. 

“ I kept these people with me for a week. The 
mother, Mademoiselle Elmire, was an extraordi- 
narily lucid somnambulist, who promised me an in- 
terminable life and countless joys. 

“ The following year, at exactly the same date, 
toward nightfall, the servant who has just called 
me came to me in the smoking-room after dinner 
and said : ‘ It’s the gypsy of last year who has 

come to thank Monsieur.’ 

“ I had her come in the house, and I remained 
dumfounded as I saw beside her a tall blond fel- 
low, a man from the North, who bowed and spoke 
to me as chief of the community. He had heard of 
my kindness for Mademoiselle Elmire, and he had 
not wished to let this anniversary go by without 


32 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


bringing to me their thanks and a testimony of their 
gratefulness. 

“ I gave them supper in the kitchen, and offered 
them my hospitality for the night. They left the 
following day. 

“ The woman returns every year at the same date 
with the child, a fine little girl, and a new man 
. . . each time. One man only, a fellow from 

Auvergne, came back two years in succession. The 
little girl calls them all ‘ Papa,’ just as one says 
‘ Monsieur ’ with us.” 

We were arriving at the cottage, and we could 
barely distinguish three shadows standing on the 
porch, waiting for us. The tallest one took a few 
steps forward, made a great bow, and said : “ Mon- 
sieur le Comte, we have come to-day in recognition 
of our gratefulness. . . .” 

He was a Belgian! 

After him, the little one spoke in the shrill, sing- 
ing voice which children use when they recite a 
composition. 

I played ignorance, and I took Mademoiselle El- 
mire to the side, and, after a few questions, I asked 
her : “ Is that the father of your child ? ” 

‘‘ Oh I no. Monsieur.” 

Is the father dead?” 

'‘Oh! no, Monsieur. We still see each other 
from time to time. He is a gendarme.” 

“ What ! then it wasn’t the fellow from Mar- 
seilles who was there at the birth ? ” 

“ Oh ! no. Monsieur. That was a rascal who stole 
all my savings.” 


THE FATHERS 


33 


“ And the gendarme, the real father, does he 
know his child ? ” 

Oh ! yes, Monsieur, and he loves her very 
much; but he can’t take care of her because he has 
other ones from his wife.” 


ON CATS 


I WAS sitting, the other day, on a bench outside of 
my door, with the sun shining full upon me, a 
basket of blooming anemones in front of me, 
reading a book that had recently appeared, a good 
book, a rare thing, and also a delightful book, Le 
Tonnelier, by Georges Duval. A large white cat, 
which belonged to the gardener, jumped on my 
knees, by the shock of its impact closing the book, 
which I laid beside me to caress the beast. 

It was hot; the odour of young flowers, a shy, 
light, intermittent odour, floated in the air, and I 
also felt passing breaths of cold coming from those 
great white peaks that I saw in the distance. 

But the sun was scorching, penetrating, with 
that heat which digs down into the earth and makes 
it alive, which splits the seeds in order to animate 
the sleeping germs within, and slits the buds, so that 
the young leaves may come out. The cat was roll- 
ing on its back, on my knees, with its paws ex- 
tended, clawing the air, showing its pointed teeth 
inside of its lips, and its green eyes peeping out 
through the slit of its half-closed lids. I patted and 
caressed the soft and nervous animal, supple as a 
piece of silk, gentle, warm, delicious, and dangerous. 


ON CATS 


35 


She was purring delightedly, and ready to bite, for 
she likes to claw, as well as to be caressed. She 
stretched and turned her neck, and when I stopped 
touching her, she sat up and passed her head under 
my raised hand. 

I made her nervous and she made me nervous, 
too, for I both love and detest these charming and 
perfidious animals. It gives me pleasure to touch 
them, to pass my hand over their silky, crackling 
fur, to feel their warmth through the fine, exquisite 
texture of their coat. There is nothing softer than 
the warm and vibrant hair of a cat, and nothing 
imparts to the skin a more delicate, refined, and 
rare sensation. But this living coat makes my fin- 
gers itch with a strange and fierce desire to strangle 
the beast that I am caressing. I feel in her the in- 
clination that she has to bite me and to tear me. 
I feel and I catch this inclination, like a fluid which 
she communicates to me ; I catch it from this warm 
skin through the tips of my fingers, and it creeps 
along my nerves, along my limbs, up to my heart, 
up to my head; it fells me, it runs along my skin, 
and it makes me clinch my teeth. And all the while 
I feel at the tips of my ten fingers the light, lively 
tickling which penetrates and suffuses my body. 

And if the beast begins, if she bites me or claws 
me, I take her by the neck, give a turn, and 
fling her away like a sling-stone, so quickly and so 
brutally that she never has the time to get even with 
me. 

I remember that even as a child I loved cats, but 
yet with the brusque desire to strangle them in my 


36 


GUV* DJL MAUPASSANT 


little hands. One day I suddenly saw, at the far 
end of the garden, on the edge of the woods, some- 
thing gray that was rolling over in the tall grass. 

I ran down to see; it was a cat caught in a trap, 
who was strangling, with the death-rattle in its 
throat. It was twisting its body, clawing the earth 
round it, jumping up, and falling down; and then it 
began all over again, and its quick, hoarse breath- 
ing sounded like the noise of a pump, a dreadful 
noise that is still ringing in my ears. 

I might have taken a spade and cut the trap; I 
might have run for our man-servant, or I might 
have gone to tell my father. But, no ; I did not 
stir from the spot, and with beating heart and 
trembling and cruel joy I watched it die; for it 
was a cat. Had it been a dog I should have cut the 
wire string with my teeth, rather than let it suffer 
a moment longer. 

And when the cat was dead, quite dead, and still 
warm, I went up to touch it and pull its tail. 

Yet they are delicious, especially when, in ca- 
ressing them, they rub against our skin, purr, and 
roll over us, looking at us with their yellow eyes 
which never seem to see us, and it is then that we 
feel the insecurity of their caresses, the perfidious 
egoism of their pleasure. 

Women also give us this sensation, charming, 
gentle women, with clear and false eyes, who have 
chosen us in order to get a taste of love. With 
them, when they open their arms, with pursed-up 
lips, when one presses them close, with beating 
heart, when one tastes the sweet, sensual joy of 


ON CATS 


37 


their tender caress, one feels very well that one is 
holding a cat, a cat with claws and nails, a perfidi- 
ous, sly, amorous, hostile cat, who will bite when 
she is tired of kissing. 

All the poets have loved cats. Baudelaire has 
sung of them divinely. We all know his admirable 
sonnet : 

“ Les amoureux fervents et les savants austeres 
Aiment egalement, dans leur mure saison, 

Les chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison, 

Qui comme eux sont frileux, et comme eiix sedentaires. 

“ Amis de la science et de la volupte, 

Ils cherchent le silence et Thorreur des tenebres. 

L’Erebe les eut pris pour des coursiers funebres 
S’ils pouvaient au servage incliner leur fierte. 

“ Ils prennent, en songeant, les nobles attitudes 
Des grands sphinx allonges au fond des solitudes 
Qui semblent s’endomir dans un reve sans fin. 

“ Leurs reins feconds sont plein d’etincelles magiques, 
Et des parcelles d’or, ainsi qu’un sable fin, 

Etoilent vaguement leurs prunelles mystiques.” 

One day I had the strange sensation of having 
lived in the enchanted palace of the White Cat, a 
magical chateau, where ruled one of these sinuous, 
mysterious, troublous beasts, perhaps the only one 
of all the beings whose footfall one never hears. 

It was last summer, on the same coast of the 
Mediterranean. There was a fierce heat at Nice, 
and I asked if the people here did not have some- 
where in the mountain above a cool valley, where 
they could go for a breath of fresh air. 

They told me of the valley of Thorence. I 


38 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


wanted to see it. I must first go to Grasse, the city 
of perfumes, of which I shall speak some day, de- 
scribing how they make those essences and quintes- 
sences of flowers, which are worth up to two thou- 
sand francs a litre. I passed the evening and the 
night in an old hotel in the city, a second-class inn, 
where the quality of the food was as doubtful as 
the cleanness of the rooms. I left in the morning. 

The route lay through the mountains, skirting 
deep ravines, with sharp, sterile, and wild peaks 
rising up on the sides. I was wondering to what 
a curious summer place I had been sent, and I was 
on the point of turning back to get to Nice that 
same evening, when I suddenly perceived in front 
of me, on a mountain which seemed to shut off the 
entire valley, an immense and splendid ruin, with 
its towers and crumbled walls outlined against the 
sky, a curious heap of a dead fortress. It was the 
remains of an ancient priory of the Knights Tem- 
plars, who formerly held sway in the country of 
Thorence. 

Skirting this mountain, I suddenly discovered a 
long green valley, fresh and restful. In the bottom 
there were meadows, running water, and willows, 
and on the slope pines were climbing up to the 
sky. 

Opposite the priory, on the further side of the 
valley, but lower, there stands the Chateau of 
Quatre Tours, which was built about 1530 and is 
still inhabited. Its architecture does not yet show 
any trace of the Renaissance. 

It is a heavy and well-built pile of masonry, very 


ON CATS 


39 


Strong in appearance, and flanked by four watch- 
towers, as its name indicates. 

I had a letter of introduction to the owners of 
this manor, who would not let me go on to the 
hotel. 

The whole valley, which is really delightful, is 
one of the most charming summer places than one 
can imagine. 

I went first through a kind of salon, the walls of 
which are covered by old Cordova leather, then 
through another room, where, by the light of my 
candle, I caught a glimpse of old portraits of ladies 
on the walls, those pictures of which Theophile 
Gautier has said : 

“ I love to see you in your oval frames, 

Yellow portraits of the beauties of old, 

Holding somewhat pale roses in your hands, 

As is fitting for century-old flowers.” 

Then I entered the room in which I was to sleep. 

I turned to examine it as soon as I was alone. 
It was hung with old painted tapestries, showing 
pink towers against blue backgrounds, and large, 
fantastic birds under foliage of precious stones. 

My dressing-room was in one of the towers. 
The windows, which were cut large into the wall on 
the inside, sloped through the masonry, narrowing 
as they went out toward the daylight, being, in 
fact, nothing more than portholes, openings through 
which men on the outside were killed. I closed my 
door, lay down, and went to sleep. 

And I dreamed; one always dreams somewhat 


40 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


of that through which he has passed during the 
day. I was travelling; I entered an inn, where I 
saw at a table before the fire a servant in gala liv- 
ery and a mason, a curious fellowship, but which 
did not astonish me. They were talking of Victor 
Hugo, who had just died, and I took part in their 
conversation. I finally went to bed in a room whose 
door did not close, and suddenly I saw the servant 
and the mason tiptoeing toward my bed, armed 
with bricks. 

I started out of my sleep, and it took me some 
minutes to collect myself. Then I recalled the 
events of the day before, my arrival at Thorence, the 
chdtelain's amiable reception. ... I was about 
to close my eyes when I saw — yes, I saw in the 
darkness of the night, in the middle of my room, at 
about the height of a man’s head, two fiery eyes 
looking at me. 

I reached for a match, and while I was striking 
it I heard a noise, a slight, soft noise, like that of 
the dropping of a damp roll of cloth, and when I 
had made a light I saw nothing but a large table 
in the middle of the apartment. 

I got up. I went through the two rooms, looked 
under my bed and into the closets, but found noth- 
ing. 

I thought, therefore, that I had continued to 
dream for a few seconds after being awake, and I 
went to sleep again, not without some difficulty. 

Again I began to dream. This time, also, I was 
travelling, but in the East, the land that I love, and 
I came to a Turk who was living in the open desert. 


ON CATS 


41 


He was a splendid Turk; not an Arab, but a Turk, 
large, amiable, charming, dressed in Turkish fash- 
ion, with a turban and a whole assortment of silks 
on his back, a real Turk of the Theatre Frangais, 
who made me compliments in offering me sweets, 
on a delicious divan. 

Then a small negro boy led me to my room — so 
all my dreams finished there — a perfumed, sky-blue 
room, with skins on the floor, and before the fire — 
the idea of fire pursued me even to the desert — sat 
a scantily clad woman in a low chair, who was ex- 
pecting me. 

She was of the most pure Oriental type, with 
stars on the cheeks, the forehead, and chin, im- 
mense eyes, an admirable body, a little brown but 
warm and captivating. 

She looked at me, and I thought : “ This is what 
I call hospitality. It is not in our stupid land of 
the North, our land of inept prudishness and odious 
shamefacedness and imbecile morality, where one 
would receive a stranger in this fashion.” 

I went up to her and spoke, but she replied only 
by signs, not knowing a word of my lahguage, 
which my Turk, her master, knew so well. 

All the more happy in that she would be silent, I 
took her by the hand and led her to my couch, 
where I lay down beside her. . . . But one al- 

ways awakens just at that point! So I woke up, 
and I was not very much surprised to feel some- 
thing soft and warm under my hand, which I ca- 
ressed amorously. 

Then, on gathering together my thoughts, I saw 


42 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


that it was a cat, a large cat, snuggled up against 
my cheek, which slept undisturbed. I let it lie, and, 
following its example, went to sleep once more. 

When day broke it was gone, and I really thought 
that I had been dreaming, for I did not understand 
how she could have come into my room and gone 
out again, the door being locked. 

When I told my adventure (not all of it) to my 
amiable host, he began to laugh, and said : “ He 

came in through the cat-hole,” and, lifting up a 
curtain, he showed me a small, round black hole in 
the wall. 

And I learned that almost all the old habitations 
in this country have such long, narrow passages 
through the walls, which go from the cellar to the 
garret, from the maid-servant’s room to that of the 
master, and which constitute the cat the king and 
the master of the house. 

He goes about as he likes, visiting his domain at 
his pleasure ; he can sleep in all the beds, see every- 
thing and hear everything, know all the secrets, all 
the habits, and all the shame of the house. He is 
everywhere at home, and can enter everywhere, the 
animal that goes about noiselessly, the silent 
prowler, the midnight promenader of hollow walls. 

And I thought of this other verse of Baudelaire : 

“ He is the homely spirit of the spot ; 

As judge he sees us all, and doth inspire 

All things that pass in his domain; 

Perhaps he is a fay — perhaps a god.” 


MADAME PARISSE 


I 

I WAS sitting on the pier of the small port of 
Obernon, near the village of Salis, looking at 
Antibes, bathed in the setting sun. I had never 
before seen anything so surprising and so beautiful. 

The small town, inclosed by its heavy, protective 
walls, built by Monsieur de Vauban, reached out 
into the open sea, in the middle of the immense 
Gulf of Nice. The great waves, coming in from 
the ocean, broke at its feet, surrounding it with a 
wreath of foam ; and beyond the ramparts the 
houses were climbing up the hill, one over the other, 
as far as the two towers which rose up into the sky, 
like the horns of an ancient helmet. And these two 
towers were outlined against the milky whiteness of 
the Alps, that enormous distant wall of snow which 
closed in the entire horizon. 

Between the white foam at the foot of the walls 
and the white snow on the sky-line the little city, 
resting brilliant against the bluish background of 
the nearest mountain ranges, presented to the rays 
of the setting sun a pyramid of red-roofed houses, 
whose fagades were also white, but so different one 
from another that they seemed of all tints. 


44 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


And the sky above the Alps was itself of a blue 
that was almost white, as if the snow had tinted it ; 
some silvery clouds were floating just over the pale 
summits, and on the other side of the Gulf of Nice, 
down by the water, unrolled like a white thread be- 
tween the sea and the mountain. Two great sails, 
driven by a strong breeze, seemed to skim over the 
waves. I looked upon all this, astounded. 

This view was one of those things so sweet, so 
rare, so delightful, that penetrate into you, and are 
unforgettable, like the memories of a joy. One 
sees, thinks, suffers, is moved, and loves with the 
eyes. He who can feel with the eye experiences the 
same keen, exquisite, and deep pleasure in looking 
upon men and things as the man with the delicate 
and sensitive ear, whose soul music overwhelms. 

I turned to my companion, M. Martini, a pure- 
blooded Southerner. 

“ This is certainly one of the rarest sights which 
it has been vouchsafed to me to admire. 

“ I have seen the Mont Saint-Michel, that mon- 
strous granite jewel, rise out of the sand at sun- 
rise. 

“ I have seen, in the Sahara, Lake Raianecher- 
gui, fifty kilometres long, shining under a moon as 
brilliant as our sun and breathing up to it a white 
cloud, like a mist of milk. 

‘‘ I have seen, in the Liparian Islands, the fan- 
tastic sulphur crater of the Volcanello, a giant 
flower which fumes and burns, an over-big yellow 
flower, opening full on the sea, whose stem is a 
volcano. 


MADAME PARISSE 


45 - 


“ But I have seen nothing more surprising than 
Antibes, standing against the Alps at the setting sun. 

And I know not how it is that memories of 
antiquity haunt me ; verses of Homer come into my 
mind; this is a city of the ancient East, a city out 
of the Odyssey; this is Troy, although Troy was 
very far from the sea.” 

M. Martini drew the Sarty guidebook out of his 
pocket and read : This city was originally a 

colony founded by the Phocians of Marseilles, about 
340 B. C. They gave it the Greek name of Antip- 
olis, meaning counter-city, city opposite another, 
because it is in fact opposite to Nice, another colony 
from Marseilles. 

“ After the Gauls were conquered, the Romans 
turned Antibes into a municipal city, its inhabitants 
receiving the rights of Roman citizenship. 

We know by an epigram of Martial that at his 
time ” 

I interrupted him : 

I don’t care what she was. I tell you that I 
see down there a city out of the Odyssey. The coast 
of Asia and the coast of Europe resemble each 
other in their shores, and there is no city on the 
other coast of the Mediterranean which awakens in 
me the memories of the heroic times as this one 
does.” 

A footstep caused me to turn my head ; a woman, 
a large, dark woman, was walking along the road 
which skirts the sea in going to the cape. 

“ That is Madame Parisse, you know,” muttered 
Monsieur Martini, dwelling on the final syllable. 


46 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


No, I did not know, but that name, pronounced 
nonchalantly, that name of the Trojan shepherd, 
confirmed me in my dream. 

Yet I asked: “Who is this Madame Parisse?” 

He seemed astonished that I did not know the 
story. 

I assured him that I did not know it, and I looked 
after the woman, who passed by without seeing us, 
dreaming, walking with steady and slow step, as 
doubtless the ladies of old walked. 

She was perhaps thirty-five years old, and still 
very beautiful, though a trifle stout. 

And Monsieur Martini told me the following 
story : 


II 

Mademoiselle Combelombe was married, one 
year before the war of 1870, to Monsieur Parisse, 
a government official. She was then a handsome 
young girl, as slender and lively as she has now be- 
come stout and sad. 

Unwillingly she had accepted Monsieur Parisse, 
one of those little fat men with short legs who trip 
along, with trousers always too large. 

After the war Antibes was occupied by a single 
battalion commanded by Monsieur Jean de Carme- 
lin, a young officer decorated during the war, and 
who had just received his four stripes. 

As he found life exceedingly tedious in this for- 
tress, this stuffy mole-hole inclosed by the enor- 


MADAME PARISSE 


47 


mous double walls, he often strolled out to the cape, 
a kind of park or pine wood whipped by all the 
winds from the sea. 

There he met Madame Parisse, who also came 
out in the summer evenings to get the fresh air 
under the trees. How did they love each other? 
Who knows? They met, they looked at each other, 
and when out of sight they doubtless thought of 
each other. The image of the young woman with 
the brown eyes, the black hair, the pale skin, this 
fresh, handsome Southerner, who displayed her 
teeth in smiling, was floating before the eyes of the 
officer as he continued with his promenade, biting 
his cigar instead of smoking; and the image of the 
commanding officer, in his close-fitting coat, cov- 
ered with gold, and his red trousers, with a little 
blond moustache, would pass in the evening before 
the eyes of Madame Parisse, when her husband, 
half-shaven and ill-clad, short-legged and big-bel- 
lied, came home to supper. 

Meeting so often, they perhaps smiled at the 
next meeting; then, seeing each other again and 
again, they thought that they knew each other. He 
certainly bowed to her. And she, surprised, bowed 
in return, but very, very slightly, just enough not 
to appear impolite. But after two weeks she re- 
turned his salutation away off, even before they 
were side by side. 

He spoke to her. Of what? Doubtless of the 
setting sun. They admired it together, looking for 
it in each other’s eyes more often than on the hori- 
zon. And every evening for two weeks this was 


48 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


the commonplace and persistent pretext for a few 
minutes’ chat. 

Then they hazarded a few steps together, talking 
of anything that came along, but their eyes were 
already saying to each other a thousand more in- 
timate things, those secret, charming things that 
are reflected in the gentle emotion of the eye, and 
that cause the heart to beat, for they are a better 
confession of the soul than the spoken word. 

And then he would take her hand, murmuring 
those words which the woman divines, without 
seeming to hear them. 

And it was agreed between them that they would 
love each other without making proof of it by any- 
thing sensual or brutal. 

She would have remained indefinitely at this 
stage of intimacy, but he wanted more. And every 
day he urged her more hotly to give in to his vio- 
lent desire. 

She resisted, she did not want it, she seemed 
determined not to give way. 

Yet one evening she said to him, casually : My 
husband has just gone to Marseilles. He will be 
away four days.” 

Jean de Carmelin threw himself at her feet, im- 
ploring her to open her door to him that very night 
at eleven o’clock. But she would not listen to him 
and went home with angry mien. 

The commander was in bad humour all the eve- 
ning, and the next morning at dawn he went out 
on the ramparts in a rage, from one exercise field 
to the other, dealing out punishments to the 


MADAME PARISSE 


49 


officers and men as one might fling stones into a 
crowd. 

On coming back for his breakfast, he found an 
envelope under his napkin with these four words : 
“ To-night at ten.” And he gave one hundred sous 
off-hand to the waiter serving him. 

The day seemed endless to him. He passed part 
of it in curling his hair and perfuming himself. 

As he was sitting down to the dinner-table, an- 
other envelope was handed to him, and in it he 
found the following telegram : 

“ My Love : Business done. I return this evening on 
the nine o’clock train. Parisse.” 

The commander let loose such a big oath that the 
waiter dropped the soup-tureen on the floor. 

What should he do? He certainly wanted her, 
that very evening, at whatever cost; and he would 
have her. He would resort to any means, even to 
arresting and imprisoning the husband. Then a 
mad thought struck him. Calling for paper, he 
wrote the following note : 

“Madame: He will not come back this evening, I swear 
it to you, and I shall be where you know at ten o’clock. 
Fear nothing. I will answer for everything, on my honour 
as officer. Jean de Carmelin.” 

And, having sent off this letter, he calmly dined. 

Toward eight o’clock he sent for Captain Gri- 
bois, the second in command, and he said, rolling 
between his fingers the crumpled telegram of Mon- 
sieur Parisse: 


50 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ Captain, I have just received a telegram of a 
very singular nature, which it is impossible for me 
to communicate to you. You will immediately have 
all the gates of the city closed and guarded, so that 
no one, mind me, no one, will either enter or leave 
before six in the morning. You will also have men 
patrol the streets, who will compel the inhabitants to 
retire to their houses at nine o’clock. And one 
found outside beyond that time will be conducted to 
his home manu mUitari. If your men meet me this 
night they will at once go out of my way, appear- 
ing not to know me. You understand me?” 

“ Yes, commander.” 

“ Would you like to have a glass of Chartreuse? ” 

“ With great pleasure, commander.” 

They clinked glasses, drank down the brown liq- 
uor, and Captain Gribois left the room. 


Ill 

The train from Marseilles arrived at the station 
at nine o’clock sharp, left two passengers on the 
platform, and went on toward Nice. 

One of them, tall and thin, was Monsieur Saribe, 
the oil merchant, and the other, short and fat, was 
Monsieur Parisse. 

Together they set out, with their valises, to reach 
the city, one kilometre distant. 

But on arriving at the gate of the port the guards 
crossed their bayonets, commanding them to retire. 


MADAME PARISSE 


51 


Frightened, surprised, cowed with astonishment, 
they retired to deliberate; then, after having taken 
counsel one with the other, they came back cau- 
tiously to parley, giving their names. 

But the soldiers evidently had strict orders, for 
they threatened to shoot; and the two scared trav- 
ellers ran off, throwing away their valises, which 
impeded their flight. 

Making the tour of the ramparts, they presented 
themselves at the gate on the route to Cannes. 
This likewise was closed and guarded by a men- 
acing sentinel. Messrs. Saribe and Parisse, like the 
prudent men they were, desisted from their efforts, 
and went back to the station for shelter, since it 
was not safe to be near the fortification after sun- 
down. 

The station agent, surprised and somnolent, per- 
mitted them to stay till morning in the waiting- 
room. 

And they sat there side by side, in the dark, on 
the green velvet sofa, too scared to think of sleep- 
ing. 

It was a long and weary night for them. 

At half-past six in the morning they were in- 
formed that the gates were open, and that people 
could now enter Antibes. 

They set out for the city, but they failed to find 
their abandoned valises on the road. 

When they passed through the gates of the city, 
still somewhat anxious, the Commandant de Car- 
melin, with sly glance and moustache turned up, 
came himself to look over and examine them. 


52 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


Then he bowed to them politely, excusing him- 
self for having caused them a bad night. But he 
had to carry out orders. 

The people of Antibes were scared to death. 
Some spoke of a surprise planned by the Italians; 
others, of the landing of the Prince Imperial; and 
others, again, believed that there was an Orleanistic 
conspiracy. The truth was suspected only later, 
when it became known that the battalion of the 
commandant had been sent very far away, and that 
Monsieur de Carmelin had been severely punished. 


IV 

Monsieur Martini had finished his story. Ma- 
dame Parisse returned, her promenade being ter- 
minated. She passed gravely near me, with her 
eyes fixed on the Alps, whose summits now gleamed 
rosy in the last rays of the setting sun. 

I felt like saluting her, this poor, sad woman, 
who would ever be thinking of this night of love, 
now far distant, and of the bold man who for the 
sake of a kiss from her had dared to put a city 
into a state of siege and to compromise his whole 
future. 

And to-day he had probably forgotten her, if he 
did not relate this audacious, comical, and tender 
farce to his comrades over the cups. 

Had she seen him again ? Did she still love him ? 
And I thought: Here is an instance of modern 


MADAME PARISSE 


53 


love, grotesque and yet heroic. The Homer to sing 
of this new Helena and the adventure of her Mene- 
laus must be gifted with the soul of Paul de Kock. 
And yet the hero of this deserted woman was brave, 
daring, handsome, strong, like Achilles, and more 
cunning than Ulysses. 


THE PENGUIN^S ROCK 


T his is the season for penguins. 

From April to the end of May, before the 
Parisian visitors arrive, one sees, all at once, 
on the little beach at Etretat, several old men, 
booted and belted in shooting costume. They spend 
four or five days at the Hotel Hanville, disappear, 
and return again three weeks later. Then, after a 
fresh sojourn, they go away altogether. 

One sees them again the following spring. 

These are the last gull hunters, what remain of 
the old set. There were about twenty enthusiasts 
thirty or forty years ago ; now there are only a few 
of those enthusiastic sportsmen. 

The penguin is a very rare bird of passage, with 
peculiar habits. It lives the greater part of the 
year in the latitude of Newfoundland and the isl- 
ands of St. Pierre and Miquelon. But in the breed- 
ing season a flock of emigrants cross the ocean and 
come every year to the same spot to lay their eggs, 
to the Penguins’ Rock, near Etretat. They are 
found nowhere else, only there. They have always 
come there, have always been chased away, but 
return again, and will always return. As soon as 


THE penguin’s ROCK 


55 


the young birds are grown they all fly away and 
disappear for a year. 

Why do they not go elsewhere ? Why not choose 
some other spot on the long, white, unending cliff 
that extends from the Pas-de-Calais to Havre ? 
What force, what invincible instinct, what custom 
of centuries impels these birds to come back to this 
place? What first migration, what tempest, possi- 
bly, once cast their ancestors on this rock? And 
why do the children, the grandchildren, all the de- 
scendants of the first parents, always return here? 

There are not many of them, a hundred at most, 
as if one single family, maintaining the tradition, 
made this annual pilgrimage. 

And each spring, as soon as the little wander- 
ing tribe has taken up its abode on the rock, the 
same sportsmen also reappear in the village. One 
knew them formerly when they were young; now 
they are old, but constant to the regular appoint- 
ment which they have kept for thirty or forty years. 
They would not miss it for anything in the world. 

He * * 5|C * ♦ ♦ 

It was an April evening in one of the later years. 
Three of the old sportsmen had arrived; one was 
missing — Monsieur d’Arnelles. 

He had written to no one, given no account of 
himself. But he was not dead, like so many of the 
rest ; they would have heard of it. At length, tired 
of waiting for him, the other three sat down to 
table. Dinner was almost over, when a carriage 


56 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


drove into the yard of the hotel, and the late comer 
presently entered the dining-room. 

He sat down, in a good humour, rubbing his 
hands, and ate with zest. When one of his com- 
rades remarked, with surprise, at his being in a 
frock-coat, he replied quietly: 

Yes, I had no time to change my clothes.’^ 

They retired, on leaving the table, for they had 
to set out before daybreak in order to take the birds 
unawares. 

There is nothing so pretty as this sport, this early 
morning expedition. 

At three o’clock in the morning the sailors awoke 
the sportsmen by throwing sand against the win- 
dows. They were ready in a few minutes, and 
went down to the beach. Although it was still 
dark, the stars had paled a little. The sea ground 
the shingles on the beach. There was such a fresh 
breeze that it made one shiver slightly in spite of 
one’s heavy clothing. 

Presently two boats were pushed down the beach 
by the sailors with a sound as of tearing cloth, and 
were floated on the nearest waves. The brown sail 
was hoisted, swelled a little, fluttered, hesitated, 
swelled out again as round as a paunch, and car- 
ried the boats toward the large, arched entrance 
that could be faintly distinguished in the dark- 
ness. 

The sky became clearer, the shadows seemed to 
melt away. The coast still seemed veiled, the great 
white coast, perpendicular as a wall. 

They passed through the Manne-Porte, an enor- 


THE penguin's ROCK 


57 


mous arch beneath which a ship could sail; they 
doubled the promontory of La Courtine, passed 
the little valley of Antifer and the cape of the 
same name, and suddenly caught sight of a 
beach on which some hundreds of seagulls were 
perched. 

That was the Seagulls’ Rock. It was just a lit- 
tle protuberance of the cliff, and on the narrow 
ledges of rock the birds’ heads might be seen watch- 
ing the boats. 

They remained there, motionless, not venturing 
to fly off as yet. Some of them perched on the 
edges seated upright looked almost like bottles, for 
their little legs are so short that when they walk 
they glide along as if they were on rollers. When 
they start to fly they cannot make a spring, and let 
themselves fall like stones almost down to the very 
men who are watching them. 

They know their limitation and the danger to 
which it subjects them, and cannot make up their 
minds to fly away. 

But the boatmen begin to shout, beating the sides 
of the boat with the wooden boat pins, and the 
birds, in affright, fly, one by one, into space until 
they reach the level of the waves. Then, moving 
their wings rapidly, they scud, scud along until they 
reach the open sea, if a shower of lead does not 
knock them into the water. 

For an hour the firing is kept up, obliging them 
to give up, one after another. Sometimes the 
mother birds will not leave their nests, and are rid- 
dled with shot, causing drops of blood to spurt out 


58 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


» on the white cliflf, and the animal dies without hav- 
ing deserted her eggs. 

The first day Monsieur d’Arnelles fired at the 
birds with his habitual zeal; but when the party 
returned, toward ten o’clock, beneath a brilliant sun, 
which cast great triangles of light on the white 
cliflfs along the coast, he appeared a little worried 
and absent-minded, contrary to his accustomed 
manner. 

As soon as they got on shore a kind of servant 
dressed in black came up to him and said some- 
thing in a low tone. He seemed to reflect, hesitate, 
and then replied ; 

“No; to-morrow.” 

The following day they set out again. This time 
Monsieur d’Arnelles frequently missed his aim, al- 
though the birds were close by. His friends teased 
him, asked him if he were in love, if some secret 
sorrow was troubling his mind and heart. At 
length he confessed: 

“ Yes, indeed. I have to leave soon, and that 
annoys me.” 

“What! you must leave? And why?” 

“ Oh, I have some business that calls me back. 
I cannot stay any longer.” 

They then talked of other matters. 

As soon as breakfast was over the valet in black 
reappeared. Monsieur d’Arnelles ordered his car- 
riage, and the man was leaving the room when the 
three sportsmen interfered, insisting, begging, and 
praying their friend to stay. One of them at last 
tsaid : 


THE penguin's ROCK 


59 


“ Come, now, this cannot be a matter of such 
importance, for you have already waited two 
days.” 

Monsieur d’Arnelles, altogether perplexed, began 
to think, evidently baffled, divided between pleasure 
and duty, unhappy and disturbed. 

After reflecting for some time he stammered : 

“ The fact is — the fact is — I am not alone here. 
I have rhy son-in-law.” 

There were exclamations and shouts of: 

“ Your son-in-law ! Where is he ? ” 

He suddenly appeared confused, and his face 
grew red. 

“ What ! Do you not know ? Why — why — ^he is 
in the coach house. He is dead.” 

They were all silent, in amazement. 

Monsieur d’Arnelles continued, more and more 
disturbed : 

“ I had the misfortune to lose him, and as I was 
taking the body to my house, in Briseville, I came 
round this way so as not to miss our appoint- 
ment. But you can see that I cannot wait any 
longer.” 

Then one of the sportsmen, bolder than the rest, 
said : 

“ Well, but — since he is dead — it seems to me — 
that he can wait a day longer.” 

The others chimed in : 

“ That cannot be denied.” 

Monsieur d’Arnelles seemed to be relieved of 
a great weight; but a little uneasy, nevertheless, he 
asked : 


6o 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


** But frankly — do you think 

The three others, as one man, replied : 

Parhleu! my dear boy, two days more or less 
can make no difference, in his present condition/^ 
And, perfectly calmly, the father-in-law turned to 
the undertaker’s assistant and said: 

“ Well, then, my friend, it will be the day after 
to-morrow.” 


MARTINE 


I T came to him one Sunday after mass. He was 
walking home from church, along the hollow 
road that led to his house, when he saw ahead 
of him Martine, who was also going home. 

Her father walked beside his daughter with the 
important gait of a wealthy farmer. Discarding 
the smock, he wore a short coat of gray cloth and 
on his head a round-topped hat with wide brim. 

She, laced up in a corset which she wore only 
once a week, walked along erect, with her squeezed- 
in waist, her broad shoulders, and prominent hips, 
swinging herself a little. She wore a hat trimmed 
with flowers, made by a milliner at Yvetot, and dis- 
played the back of her full, round, supple neck, 
reddened by the sun and air, on which fluttered lit 
tie stray locks of hair. 

Benoist saw only her back; but he knew well the 
face he loved, without, however, having ever noticed 
it more closely than he did now. 

Suddenly he said : Noni d’nn nom, she is a 

fine girl, all the same, that Martine.” He watched 
her as she walked, admiring her hastily, feeling a 
desire taking possession of him. He did not long 
to see her face again, no. He kept gazing at her 


62 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


figure, repeating to himself : Nom d^un nom, she 

is a fine girl.” 

Martine turned to the right, to enter “ La Mar- 
tiniere,” the farm of her father, Jean Martin; and 
she cast a glance behind her as she turned round. 
She saw Benoist, who looked to her very comical. 
She called out : “ Good morning, Benoist.” He 

replied : ‘‘ Good morning, Martine ; good morning, 
Mait’ Martin,” and went on his way. 

When he reached home the soup was on the 
table. He sat down opposite his mother beside the 
farm-hand and the hired man, while the maid-ser- 
vant went to draw some cider. 

He ate a few spoonsful, then pushed away his 
plate. His mother said : 

“ Don’t you feel well ? ” 

“ No, I feel as if I had some pap in my stomach, 
and that takes away my appetite.” 

He watched the others eating as he cut himself 
a piece of bread from time to time and carried it 
lazily to his mouth, masticating it slowly. He 
thought of Martine. She is a 'fine girl, all the 
same.” And to think that he had not noticed it 
before, and that it came to him, just like that, all 
at once, and with such force that he could not eat. 

He did not touch the stew. His mother said : 

“ Come, Benoist, try to eat a little ; it is loin of 
mutton; it will do you good. When one has no 
appetite, they should force themselves to eat.” 

He swallowed a few morsels, then, pushing away 
his plate, said : 

“No. I can’t go that, positively.” 


MARTI NE 


63 


When they rose from table he walked round the 
farm, telling the farm-hand he might go home, and 
that he would drive up the animals as he passed 
them. 

The country was deserted, as it was the day of 
rest. Here and there, in a field of clover, cows 
were moving along heavily, with full bellies, chew- 
ing their cud under a blazing sun. Unharnessed 
plows were standing at the end of a furrow, and 
the upturned earth ready for the seed showed 
broad, brown patches amid yellow patches of 
stubble of wheat and oats that had lately been 
harvested. 

A rather dry autumn wind blew across the plain, 
promising a cool evening after the sun had set. 
Benoist sat down on a ditch, placed his hat on his 
knees as if he needed to cool off his head, and said 
aloud in the stillness of the country : “ If you want 
a fine girl, she is a fine girl.’’ 

He thought of it again at night, in his bed, and 
in the morning when he awoke. 

He was not sad, he was not discontented, he 
could not have told what ailed him. It was some- 
thing that had hold of him, something fastened in 
his mind, an idea that would not leave him and 
that produced a sort of tickling sensation in his 
heart. 

Sometimes a big fly is shut up in a room. You 
hear it flying about, buzzing, and the noise haunts 
you, irritates you. Suddenly it stops ; you forget it ; 
but all at once it begins again, obliging you to look 
up. You cannot catch it, nor drive it away, nor kill 


64 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


it, nor make it keep still. As soon as it settles for 
a second it starts ot¥ buzzing again. 

The recollection of Martine disturbed Benoist’s 
mind like an imprisoned fly. 

Then he longed to see her again, and walked past 
the Martiniere several times. He saw her, at last, 
hanging out some clothes on a line stretched be- 
tween two apple trees. 

It was a warm day. She had on only a short 
skirt and her chemise, showing the curves of her 
figure as she hung up the towels. He remained 
there concealed by the hedge for more than an hour, 
even after she had left. He returned home more 
obsessed with her image than ever. 

For a month his mind was full of her, he trem- 
bled when her name was mentioned in his presence. 
He could not eat, he had night sweats that kept him 
from sleeping. 

On Sunday, at mass, he never took his eyes off 
her. She noticed it, and smiled at him, flattered at 
his appreciation. 

One evening he suddenly met her in the road. 
She stopped short when she saw him coming. Then 
he walked right up to her, choking with fear and 
emotion, but determined to speak to her. He began 
falteringly : 

“ See here, Martine, this cannot go on like this 
any longer.” 

She replied, as if she wanted to tease him: 

“ What cannot go on any longer, Benoist ? ” 

My thinking of you as many hours as there are 
in the day,” he answered. 


MARTINE 


65 


She put her hands on her hips. 

'' I do not oblige you to do so.” 

Yes, it is you,” he stammered; I cannot sleep, 
nor rest, nor eat, nor anything.” 

“ What do you need to cure you of all that ? ” 
she asked. 

He stood there in dismay, his arms swinging, his 
eyes staring, his mouth agape. 

She hit him a punch in the stomach, and ran off. 

From that day they met each other along the 
roadside, in byroads, or else at twilight on the edge 
of a field, when he was going home with his horses 
and she was driving her cows home to the stable. 

He felt himself carried, cast toward her by a 
strong impulse of his heart and body. He would 
have liked to squeeze her, strangle her, eat her, 
make her part of himself. And he trembled with 
impotence, impatience, rage, to think she did not 
belong to him entirely, as if they were one being. 

People gossiped about it in the countryside. They 
said they were engaged. He had, however, asked 
her if she would be his wife, and she had answered : 

Yes.” 

They were waiting for an opportunity to talk to 
their parents about it. 

But all at once she stopped coming to meet him 
at the usual hour. He did not even see her as he 
wandered round the farm. He could only catch a 
glimpse of her at mass on Sunday. And one Sun- 
day, after the sermon, the priest actually published 
the banns of marriage between Victoire-Adelaide 
Martin and Josephin-Isidore Vallin. 


66 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


Benoist felt a sensation in his hands as if the 
blood had been drained off. He had a buzzing in 
the ears, and could hear nothing; and presently he 
perceived that his tears were falling on his prayer 
book. 

For a month he stayed in his room. Then he 
went back to his work. 

But he was not cured, and it was always in his 
mind. He avoided the roads that led past her 
home, so that he might not even see the trees in the 
yard, and this obliged him to make a great circuit 
morning and evening. 

She was now married to Vallin, the richest farm- 
er in the district. Benoist and he did not speak 
now, though they had been comrades from child- 
hood. 

One evening, as Benoist was passing the town 
hall, he heard that she was enceinte. Instead of 
experiencing a feeling of sorrow, he experienced, 
on the contrary, a feeling of relief. It was over 
now, all over. They were more separated by that 
than by her marriage. He really preferred that it 
should be so. 

Months passed, and more months. He caught 
sight of her occasionally going to the village with 
a heavier step than usual. She blushed as she saw 
him, lowered her head, and quickened her pace. 
And he turned out of his way so as not to pass her 
and meet her glance. 

He dreaded the thought that he might one morn- 
ing meet her face to face and be obliged to speak 
to her. What could he say to her now after all he 


MARTINE 


67 


had said formerly when he held her hands as he 
kissed her hair beside her cheeks? He often 
thought of those meetings along the roadside. She 
had acted horribly after all her promises. 

By degrees his grief diminished, leaving only sad- 
ness behind. And one day he took the old road 
that led past the farm where she now lived. He 
looked at the roof from a distance. It was there, 
in there, that she lived, with another! The apple 
trees were in bloom, the cocks crowed on the dung- 
hill. The whole dwelling seemed empty, the farm- 
hands had gone to the fields to their spring toil. 
He stopped near the gate and looked into the yard. 
The dog was asleep outside his kennel. Three 
calves were walking slowly, one behind the other, 
toward the pond. A big turkey was strutting before 
the door, parading before the turkey hens like a 
singer at the opera. 

Benoist leaned against the gatepost and was sud- 
denly seized with a desire to weep. But suddenly 
he heard a cry, a loud cry for help, coming from 
the house. He was struck with dismay, his hands 
grasping the wooden bars of the gate, and listened 
attentively. Another cry, a prolonged, heartrend- 
ing cry, reached his ears, his soul, his flesh. It was 
she who was crying like that I He darted inside, 
crossed the grass patch, pushed open the door, and 
saw her lying on the floor, her body drawn up, 
her face livid, her eyes haggard, in the throes of 
childbirth. 

He stood there, trembling and paler than she was, 
and stammered : 


68 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


‘‘ Here I am, here I am, Martine ! ” 

She replied in gasps: 

“ Oh, do not leave me, do not leave me, Be- 
noist ! ” 

He looked at her, not knowing what to say, what 
to do. She began to cry out again : 

Oh ! oh ! it is killing me. Oh, Benoist ! 

She writhed frightfully. 

Benoist was suddenly seized with a frantic long- 
ing to help her, to quiet her, to remove her pain. 
He leaned over, lifted her up, and laid her on her 
bed; and while she kept on moaning he began to 
take off her clothes, her jacket, her skirt, and her 
petticoat. She bit her fists to keep from crying 
out. Then he did as he was accustomed to doing 
for cows, ewes, and mares ; he assisted in delivering 
her, and found in his hands a large infant, who was 
moaning. 

He wiped it off and wrapped it up in a towel 
that was drying in front of the fire, and laid it on 
a bundle of clothes ready for ironing that was on 
the table. Then he went back to the mother. 

He took her up and placed her on the floor again, 
then he changed the bedclothes and put her back 
into bed. She faltered: 

“ Thank you, Benoist ; you have a noble heart.’’ 
And then she wept a little, as if she felt regretful. 

He did not love her any more, not the least bit. 
It was all over. Why? How? He could not have 
said. What had happened had cured him better 
than ten years of absence. 

She asked, exhausted and trembling : 


MARTI NE 


69 


What is it?” 

He replied calmly: 

“ It is a very fine girl.” 

Then they were silent again. At the end of a 
few seconds the mother, in a weak voice, said : 

Show her to me, Benoist.” 

He took up the little one and was showing it to 
her as if he were holding the consecrated wafer, 
when the door opened and Isidore Vallin appeared. 

He did not understand at first; then, all at once, 
he guessed. 

Benoist, in consternation, stammered out : 

“ I was passing, I was just passing by when I 
heard her crying out, and I came — there is your 
child, Vallin ! ” 

Then the husband, his eyes full of tears, stepped 
forward, took the little mite of humanity that he 
held out to him, kissed it, unable to speak from emo- 
tion for a few seconds; then, placing the child on 
the bed, he held out both hands to Benoist, say- 
ing: 

“ Your hand upon it, Benoist. From now on we 
understand each other. If you are willing, we will 
be a pair of friends, a pair of friends ! ” 

And Benoist replied: 

Indeed I will ; certainly ; indeed, I will.” 


A SALE 


T he defendants, Cesaire-Isidore Brument and 
Prosper-Napoleon Cornu, appeared before 
the Court of Assizes of the Seine-Inferieure 
on a charge of attempted murder, by drowning, of 
Madame Brument, lawful wife of the first of the 
afore-named. 

The two prisoners sat side by side on the tra- 
ditional bench. They were two peasants ; the first 
was small and .stout, with short arms, short legs, 
and a round head, with a red, pimply face planted 
directly on his trunk, which was also round and 
short, and with apparently no neck. He was a 
raiser of pigs, and lived at Cacheville-la-Goupil, in 
the Canton of Criquetot. 

Cornu (Prosper-Napoleon) was thin, of medium 
height, with enormously long arms. His head was 
on crooked, his jaw awry, and he squinted. A blue 
blouse, as long as a shirt, hung down to his knees, 
and his yellow hair, which was scanty and plastered 
down on his head, gave his face a worn-out, dirty 
look, a ruined look that was frightful. He had been 
nicknamed “ the cure,' because he could imitate to 
perfection the chanting in church and even the 
sound of the serpent. This talent attracted to his 
cafe — for he was a saloon keeper at Criquetot — a 


A SALE 


71 


great many customers who preferred the “ mass at 
Cornu ” to the mass in church. 

Madame Brument, seated on the witness bench, 
was a thin peasant woman, who seemed to be al- 
ways asleep. She sat there motionless, her hands 
crossed on her knees, gazing fixedly before her with 
a stupid expression. 

The Judge continued his interrogation: 

“ Well, then, Madame Brument, they came into 
your house and threw you into a barrel full of 
water. Tell us the details. Stand up.” 

She rose. She looked as tall as a flagpole, with 
her cap, which appeared like a white skull cap. She 
said, in a drawling tone: " 

“ I was shelling beans. Just then they came in. 
I said to myself : ‘ What is the matter with them ? 
They do not seem natural ; they seem up to some 
mischief.’ They watched me sideways, like this, 
especially Cornu, because he squints. I do not like 
to see them together, for they are two good-for- 
nothings when they are in company. I said : ‘ What 
do you want with me ? ’ They did not answer. I 
had a sort of mistrust ” 

The defendant Brument interrupted the witness 
hastily, saying: 

“ I was full.” 

Then Cornu, turning toward his accomplice, said, 
in the deep tones of an organ : 

“ Say that we were both full, and you will be 
telling no lie.” 

The Judge, severely: “You mean by that you 
were both drunk ? ” 


72 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


Brument : “ There can be no question about it.’^ 

Cornu : “ That might happen to any one.” 

The Judge, to the victim : Continue your tes- 
timony.” 

Well, Brument said to me, ‘ Do you wish to 
earn a bunded sous?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘seeing 
that a hundred sous are not picked up in a horse’s 
tracks.’ Then he said : ‘ Open your eyes and do 

as I do,’ and he went to fetch the large empty bar- 
rel which is under the rain pipe in the corner, and 
he turned it over and brought it into my kitchen, 
and stuck it down in the middle of the floor, and 
then he said to me : ‘ Go and fetch water until it 
is full.’ 

“ So I went to the pond with two pails and car- 
ried water, and still more water for an hour, see- 
ing that the barrel was as large as a vat, saving 
your presence, Monsieur le President. 

“ All this time Brument and Cornu were drink- 
ing a glass, and then another glass, and .then an- 
other. They were finishing their drinks when I 
said to them : ‘ You are full, fuller than this bar- 

rel.’ And Brument answered me : ‘ Do not worry ; 
go on with your work; your turn will come; each 
one has his share.’ I paid no attention to what he 
said, and he was full. 

“ When the barrel was full to the brim, I said : 
‘ There, that’s done.’ 

“ And then Cornu gave me a hundred sous. Not 
Brument, Cornu; it was Cornu gave them to me. 
And Brument said : ‘ Do you wish to earn a hun- 
dred sous more?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, for I am not 


A SALE 


73 


accustomed to presents like that. Then he said: 
‘ Take off your clothes.’ 

“‘Take off my clothes?’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ he said. 

“ ‘ How many shall I take off ? ’ 

“ ‘ If it worries you at all, keep on your chemise, 
that won’t bother us.’ 

“ A hundred sous, that is a hundred sous, and 
I have to undress myself, but I did not fancy un- 
dressing before those two good-for-nothings. I took 
off my cap, and then my jacket, and then my skirt, 
and then my sabots. Brument said : ‘ Keep on 

your stockings, also; we are good fellows.’ 

“ And Cornu said, too : ‘We are good fellows.’ 

“ So there I was, almost like Mother Eve. And 
they got up from their chairs, but could not stand 
straight, they were so full, saving your presence. 
Monsieur le President. 

“ I said to myself : ‘ What are they up to ? ’ 

“ And Brument said : ‘ Are you ready ? ’ 

“ And Cornu said : ‘ I’m ready ! ’ 

“ And then they took me, Brument by the head 
and Cornu by the feet, as one might take, for in- 
stance, a sheet that has been washed. Then I began 
to bawl. 

“ And Brument said : ‘ Keep still, wretched crea- 
ture.’ 

“ And they lifted me up in the air and put me 
into the barrel which was full of water, so that I 
had a check of the circulation, a chill to my very 
insides. 

“ And Brument said : ‘ Is that all ? ’ 


74 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ Cornu said : ‘ That is all.’ 

“ Brument said : ' The head is not in ; that will 
make a difference in the measure.’ 

“ Cornu said : ‘ Put in her head.’ 

“ And then Brument pushed down my head as if 
to drown me, so that I could already see Paradise. 
And he pushed it down, and I disappeared. 

“ And then he must have been frightened. He 
pulled me out and said : ‘ Go and get dry, car- 

cass.’ 

“ As for me, I took to my heels and ran as far as 
Monsieur le Cure’s. He lent me a skirt belonging 
to his servant, for I was almost in a state of nature, 
and he went to fetch Maitre Chicot, the country 
watchman, who went to Criquetot to fetch the po- 
lice, who came to my house with me. 

“ There we found Brument and Cornu fighting 
each other like two rams. 

“ Brument was bawling : ‘ It isn’t true ; I tell you 
that there is at least a cubic metre in it. It is the 
method that was no good.’ 

“ Cornu bawled : ‘ Four pails, that is almost half 
a cubic metre. You need not reply, that’s what 
it is.’ 

“ The police captain put them both under arrest. 
I have no more to tell.” 

She sat down. The audience in the courtroom 
laughed. The jurors looked at one another in as- 
tonishment. The Judge said : 

“ Defendant Cornu, you seem to have been the 
instigator of this infamous plot. What have you to 
say ? ” 


A SALE 


75 


And Cornu rose in his turn. 

“ Judge,” he replied, “ I was full.” 

The Judge answered gravely: 

“ I know it. Proceed.” 

I will. Well, Brument came to my place about 
nine o’clock, and ordered two drinks, and said: 
‘.Here’s one for you. Cornu.’ I sat down opposite 
him and drank, and, out of politeness, I offered him 
a glass. Then he returned the compliment and so 
did I, and so it went on from glass to glass until 
noon, when we were full. 

“ Then Brument began to cry. That touched me. 
I asked him what was the matter. He said : ‘ I 

must have a thousand francs by Thursday.’ That 
cooled me off a little, you understand. Then he 
said to me all at once : ‘ I will sell you my wife.’ 

“ I was full, and I was a widower. You under- 
stand, that stirred me up. I did not know his wife, 
but she was a woman, wasn’t she? I asked him: 
‘ How much would you sell her for ? ’ 

“ He reflected, or pretended to. reflect. When 
one is full one is not very clear-headed, and he 
replied : ‘ I will sell her by the cubic metre.’ 

“ That did not surprise me, for I was as drunk 
as he was, and I knew what a cubic metre is in my 
business. It is a thousand litres. That suited 
me. 

“ But the price remained to be settled. All de- 
pends on the quality. I said : ‘ How much do you 
want a cubic metre ? ’ 

“ He answered : ‘ Two thousand francs.’ 

“ I gave a bound like a rabbit, and then I re- 


76 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


fleeted that a woman ought not to measure more 
than three hundred litres, so I said : ‘ That’s too 
dear.’ 

“ He answered : ‘ I cannot do it for less. I 

should lose by it.’ 

“ You understand one is not a dealer in hogs 
for nothing. One understands one’s business. But 
if he is smart, the seller of bacon, I am smarter, 
seeing that I sell them, also. Ha! ha! ha! So I 
said to him : ‘ If she were new I would not say 

anything, but she has been married to you for some 
time, so she is not as fresh as she was. I will give 
you fifteen hundred francs a cubic metre, not a sou 
more. Will that suit you ? ’ 

“ He answered : ‘ That will do. That’s a bar- 

gain ! ’ 

I agreed, and we started out, arm in arm. We 
must help each other in this world. 

“ But a fear came to me : ‘ How can you meas- 
ure her unless you put her into the liquid ? ’ 

“ Then he explained his idea, not without diffi- 
culty, for he was full. He said to me : ‘I take a 
barrel and fill it with water to the brim. I put her 
in it. All the water that comes out we will meas- 
ure; that is the way to fix it.’ 

“ I said : ‘ I see, I understand. But this water 
that overflows will run away; how are you -^oing 
to gather it up ? ’ 

“Then he began stuffing me, and explained to 
me that all we should have to do would be to refill 
the barrel with the water his wife had displaced as 
soon as she should have left. All the water we 


A SALE 


77 


should pour in would be the measure. I supposed 
about ten pails; that would be a cubic metre. He 
isn’t a fool, all the same, when he is drunk, that old 
horse. 

'' To be brief, we reached his house, and I took 
a look at its mistress. A beautiful woman she cer- 
tainly was not. Any one can see her, for there she 
is. I said to myself : ' I am disappointed, but 

never mind, she will be of value ; handsome or ugly, 
it is all the same, is it not. Monsieur le President ? ’ 
And then I saw that she was as thin as a rail. I 
said to myself : * She will not measure four hun- 

dred litres.’ I understand the matter, it being in 
liquids. 

“ She told you about the proceeding. I even let 
her keep on her chemise and stockings, to my own 
disadvantage. 

“ When that was done she ran away. I said : 
‘ Look out, Brument ! she is escaping.’ 

“ He replied : ‘ Do not be afraid, I will catch 

her, all right. She will have to come back to sleep. 
I will measure the deficit.’ 

“ We measured. Not four pailfuls. Ha ! ha ! 
ha!” 

The witness began to laugh so persistently that 
a gendarme was obliged to punch him in the back. 
Having quieted down, he resumed : 

“ In short, Brument exclaimed : ‘ Nothing doing ; 
that is not enough.’ I bawled, and bawled, and 
bawled again ; he punched me, I hit back. That 
would have kept on till the Day of Judgment, see- 
ing we were both drunk. ' 


7 « 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ Then came the gendarmes ! They swore at us, 
they took us off to prison. I want damages.” 

He sat down. 

Brument confirmed in every particular the state- 
ments of his accomplice. The jury, in consterna- 
tion, retired to deliberate. 

At the end of an hour they returned a verdict of 
acquittal for the defendants, with some severe 
strictures on the dignity of marriage, and estab- 
lishing the precise limitations of business transac- 
tions. 

Brument went home to the domestic roof accom- 
panied by his wife. 

Cornu went back to his business. 


THE ODYSSEY OF AN OUTCAST 


T he remembrance of that evening can never be 
blotted out. For half an hour I had the sin- 
ister feeling of an invincible fate ; I felt the 
shudder that one experiences in going down into a 
mine. I touched the black abyss of human misery; 
I understood how impossible an honest life is for 
some persons. 

It was past midnight. I was returning from the 
Vaudeville to the Rue Drouot, walking rapidly along 
the boulevard, where umbrellas were hurrying to 
and fro. A fine, powdery rain was flying, rather 
than falling, dimming the gaslights and giving the 
street a melancholy appearance. The pavement 
glistened and was more sticky than wet. People 
hurried along, paying no attention to anything. 

Women, with their skirts raised, showing their 
white stockings, stood in doorways trying to attract 
passers-by, or else, brushing past them, would whis- 
per some stupid words in their ear. They would 
follow a man, sidling up to him, their putrid breath 
blowing in his face ; then, finding their words were 
in vain, they would leave him abruptly and in anger, 
and resume their course, swinging their hips. 

I walked along, appealed to on all sides, taken by 


8o 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


'the sleeve, tormented and filled with disgust. All 
at once I saw three of them running, as if they were 
mad, and exchanging rapid remarks. Then others 
began to run, to flee, holding their dresses up with 
both hands so that they could run better. The drag- 
net was out that evening for that class of women. 

Suddenly I felt some one take my arm, while a 
distracted voice murmured in my ear : Save me, 

sir, save me ; do not leave me.” 

I looked at the girl. She was not twenty, al- 
though she was quite faded. I said to her : 

“ Stay with me.” 

Oh, thank you,” she murmured. 

We reached the line of republican guards. They 
made an opening to let me pass. 

I turned into the Rue Drouot. My companion 
asked me: 

“ Are you coming home with me ? ” 

‘‘ No.” 

“ Why not ? You did me a kindness that I can 
never forget.” 

“ Because I am married,” I replied, in order to 
get rid of her. 

“ What do I care ? ” 

“ Come, my child, that will do. I helped you out 
of a difficulty. Let me alone now.” 

The street was dark and deserted, sinister, in 
fact. And this woman who was squeezing my arm 
only intensified the feeling of sadness that pervaded 
me. She wanted to kiss me. I recoiled in horror, 
and said in a hard tone : 

“Come, let me alone, do you hear?” 


THE ODYSSEY OF AN OUTCAST 8l 

She made an angry gesture, and then suddenly 
began to sob. I was dismayed, moved, without 
understanding. 

“ Come, what ails you ? ” 

She murmured amid her tears: 

“ If you knew ; it is not cheerful, you may be 
sure.” 

What?” 

This life.” 

“ Why did you choose it ? ” 

Was it my fault?” 

“ Whose fault was it, then ? ” 

‘‘ I know ! ” 

A kind of interest was aroused in me by this 
wretched creature. 

“ Tell me your history,” I said. 

And she told it. 

“ I was sixteen, and was in service at Yvetot, 
with Monsieur Lerable, a grain merchant. My par- 
ents were dead. I had no relatives. I saw that my 
master looked at me in a queer manner, and pinched 
my cheeks, but I paid no attention to him. I knew 
about things, of course; in the country people are 
shrewd. But Monsieur Lerable was a pious old 
fellow who went to mass every Sunday. I would 
never have suspected him, in fact. 

“ One day he tried to take advantage of me in 
the kitchen, but I resisted him, and he went off. 

“ Opposite us was a grocer. Monsieur Dutan, 
who had a boy in the store who was very pleasant ; 
so much so that I let him talk me over. I left the 
door open and he came to see me in the evening. 


82 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ But one night Monsieur Lerable heard a noise 
and came upstairs. He found Antoine, and wanted 
to kill him. They fought with chairs, with water 
pitchers, with everything. I seized some clothes 
and rushed into the street. And I was off. 

“ I was terrified, as terrified as a hare. I put on 
my wraps in a doorway, and then I started to walk 
straight ahead of me. I was sure that some one 
was killed and that the police were already looking 
for me. I took the highroad to Rouen. I thought 
I could hide myself very well in Rouen. 

“ It was so dark that I could not see the ditches, 
and I heard the dogs barking on the farms. No 
one knows all the sounds one hears at night. Birds 
who scream like men whose throats are being cut, 
creatures that hiss, and lots of things that one can- 
not understand. It made my flesh creep, and at 
each sound I made the sign of the cross. You can- 
not imagine how it makes your heart beat. When 
day began to dawm the thought of the gendarmes 
took possession of me again, and I began to run. 
Then I quieted down. 

“ I felt hungry, although I was so upset ; but I 
had nothing, not a sou. I had forgotten my money, 
all that I had in the world, eighteen francs. So I 
walked along with an empty stomach. It was 
warm. The sun burned me. Noon passed. I was 
still walking. 

“All at once I heard horses -behind me. I turned 
round. The gendarmes ! My blood stopped circu- 
lating; I thought I was going to fall. But I con- 
trolled myself. They came up with me. They 


THE ODYSSEY OF AN OUTCAST 83 

looked at me. One of them, the oldest among them, 
said : 

“ ' Good morning, Mamzelle.’ 

“ ^ Good morning, sir.’ 

Where are you going like that ? ’ 

“ ' I am going to Rouen to service in a place that 
was offered me.’ 

“‘What! on foot?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, just as I am.’ 

“ My heart beat, sir, so that I could not speak 
any more. I said to myself : ‘ They’ve caught me.’ 
And my legs twitched with a longing to run away. 
But they would have caught me at once, you under- 
stand. 

“ The older man said : 

“ ‘ We will go along together as far as Barantin, 
Mamzelle, seeing that we both take the same road.’ 

“ ‘ With pleasure, sir.’ 

“ And we began to chat. I made myself as agree- 
able as I could, naturally; so much so that they 
surmised things that were not true. But when we 
were passing a wood the older man said : 

“‘Would you like to go and sit down on the 
moss to rest, Mamzelle ? ’ 

“ Without thinking, I replied : 

“ ‘ If you wish it, sir.’ 

“ He dismounted and gave his horse to the other 
to hold, and we went into the wood together. 

“ I could say nothing. What would you have 
done in my place? After some time he said: ‘ We 
must not forget my comrade.’ And he went back 
to hold the horses. I was so ashamed that I could 


84 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


have cried. But I did not dare to be obstinate. 
You understand. 

“ So we set off again. I did not speak, my heart 
was too sad. And I could not walk any longer, I 
was so hungry. In a village they gave me a glass 
of wine, which gave me strength for a little while. 
And then they began to trot their horses so that 
we should not be seen together in going through 
Barantin. Then I sat down by the side of the road 
and cried all the tears I had. 

“ I walked three hours longer before reaching 
Rouen. It was seven in the evening when I got 
there. At first all the lights bewildered me. And 
I had no place to sit down. On the highroad there 
is the ditch, and grass where one could even lie 
down and go to sleep. But in towns there is noth- 
ing. 

My legs seemed to be driven into my body and 
I was so dizzy that I thought I should fall. Then it 
began to rain, a little fine rain, like this evening, 
which looks like nothing, but penetrates you. I 
have no luck when it rains. Well, I began to walk 
about the streets. I looked at all the houses, say- 
ing to myself : 

“ ‘ There are so many beds and so much bread 
in there, and I cannot even find a crust and a straw 
mattress.’ I chose the streets where there were 
women calling to men passing by. In such cases, 
Monsieur, one has to do what one can. I did as 
they did, inviting every one, but without any luck. 
I wished I was dead. This lasted till midnight. At 
last a man listened to me. He said : ‘ Where do 


THE ODYSSEY OF AN OUTCAST 85 

you live ? ’ One becomes cunning when it is neces- 
sary, and I replied : ‘ I cannot take you to my 

house, for I live with my mother.’ 

“ He reflected a while, and then said : ‘ Come 

along, I know a quiet place.’ 

“ He took me across a bridge and then to the end 
of the town to a meadow beside the river. I was 
too tired to go any farther. 

“ He made me sit down, and we began to talk. 
But he talked so long that I fell asleep. He went 
off without giving me anything. It was raining, as 
I said. And from that day I have pains that I can- 
not get rid of, for I slept all that night in the mud. 

“ I was awakened by two police officers, who took 
me to the station house, and from there to prison, 
where I stayed a week, while they were looking up 
my record. I would tell nothing, for fear of the 
consequences. They found out, however, and set 
me at liberty after acquitting me. I had now to 
begin looking for something to eat again. I tried to 
get a place as a servant, but did not succeed, as I 
had been in prison. 

“ Then I recalled an old Judge who had glanced 
at me after the fashion of old Lerable, of Yvetot, 
while he was hearing my case. I went to see him. 
I was not mistaken. He gave me a hundred sous 
when I left, and said: ‘You shall have the same 
every time; but do not come oftener than twice a 
week.’ 

“ I understood that, as he was old. But it made 
me think. I said to myself : ‘ Young people amuse 
themselves, but they are not coarse. But old men 


86 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


are different’ I understood them now, the old 
apes, with their grooved eyes and their little wizened 
heads. 

“ Do you know what I did. Monsieur ? I dressed 
myself like a nursemaid coming from market, and I 
walked about the streets looking for my nurslings. 
Oh, I caught them at the first throw. I said: 
‘ Here is one who will bite.’ He approached. He 
began : 

“ ^ Good morning, Mamzelle.’ 

“ ' Good morning, sir.’ 

“ ‘ Where are you going like that ? ’ 

“ ‘ I am going home to my masters.’ 

“ ‘ Do they live far off, your masters ? ’ 

‘ Oh, so so.’ 

“ Then he did not know what more to say. I 
slackened my pace in order to let him explain him- 
self. 

“ Then he paid me some compliments in a low 
tone and asked me to go home with him. I kept 
him begging me, you understand, and then I 
yielded. I had others like him in the morning, and 
all my afternoons free. That was the good time of 
my life. I did not have to worry. 

“ But, there ! One is never quiet for any length 
of time. As ill-luck would have it, I made the 
acquaintance of a rich old society man, a former 
Judge, who was at least seventy-five. 

“ One evening he took me to dine at a restau- 
rant in the suburbs. And then, you understand, 
he could not restrain himself. He died during 
dessert. 


THE ODYSSEY OF AN OUTCAST 87 

“ I had three months of prison, for I was not 
under inspection. 

“ It was then that I came to Paris. Oh, it is 
hard living here. Monsieur. One does not eat every- 
day. There are too many. Well, it cannot be 
helped ; all have their own troubles, have they not ? ” 

She was silent. I walked along beside her, my 
heart aching. All at once she began to call me 
“ thou.’’ 

Well, then, dear, you will not come home with 
me? ” 

“No; I told you so already.” 

“Well, then, good-by; thank you, all the same, 
without any grudge. But I assure you, you are 
making a mistake.” 

And she left me, and was soon out of sight in 
the misty rain. I saw her pass beneath a gas- 
lamp, and then disappear in the shadow. Poor girl ! 


BOMBARD 


S IMON BOMBARD frequently found life very 
trying. He was born with an incredible apti- 
tude for idleness and an immoderate desire to 
avoid thwarting this tendency. Every moral or 
physical exertion, anything in the nature of work, 
seemed to him to be too great an effort for his 
strength. As soon as any serious topic was touched 
on his attention wandered, his mind being incapable 
of any strain or even any attention. 

His father had a notion store at Caen, and the 
son had taken life easy, as his family said, until he 
was twenty-five. 

But his parents were always nearer failing than 
making a fortune, and he suffered dreadfully from 
lack of money. 

He was a big, handsome fellow, with red whis- 
kers cut in the Norman fashion, with a florid com- 
plexion, blue eyes with a happy, stupid expression, 
and already beginning to have a corporation, and 
dressed himself with the loud elegance of a provin- 
cial in holiday attire. He laughed, vociferated, ges- 
ticulated at everything that was said, displaying his 
boisterous good humour with the assurance of a 
travelling man. He considered that life was meant 


BOMBARD 


89 


solely for joking or buffoonery, and as soon as he 
had to restrain his noisy mirth he fell into a con- 
dition of stupid sleepiness, not being capable even 
of sadness. 

His lack of money worried him, and he was in 
the habit of repeating a saying that became known 
to all his friends : 

“ If I had ten thousand francs a year I would 
be an executioner.” 

Every year he spent two weeks at Trouville, and 
called that “ spending the season.” He stayed with 
his cousins, who let him have a room, and from 
the day of his arrival to the day of his departure 
he walked up and down the board walk along the 
beach. 

He walked with a firm step, his hands in his 
pockets or behind his back, always wearing roomy 
clothes, light waistcoats, and loud neckties, with his 
hat on one side and a penny cigar in the corner of 
his mouth. 

He passed close beside well-dressed women, look- 
ing at the men with the air of a young fellow ready 
to* pick a quarrel, and seeking — seeking — for he 
was seeking something. 

He was seeking a wife, trusting to his face and 
physique to win him favour. He had said to him- 
self: 

The devil ! I can certainly find what I want 
among the crowds that come here.” And he sought 
it with the instinct of a shooting dog, the instinct 
of a Norman, positive that at first sight he could 
recognize the woman who would make his fortune. 


90 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


It was one Monday morning, and he was saying 
to himself : 

“ Why — why — why ! ” 

The weather was superb, one of those blue and 
yellow days in July when it seems to be raining 
down heat. The immense beach was covered with 
people in elegant toilets and bright colours, and 
looked like a garden. The fishing smacks with their 
brown sails, almost motionless on the blue water 
in which they were reflected, seemed to be sleeping 
beneath the morning sun, some quite close to the 
wooden wharf, others farther off, and some far in 
the distance, as if overcome by the indolence of a 
summer day, and too indifferent to go out to sea or 
even to come into the harbour. And yonder, in a 
mist, one could perceive the coast of Havre with 
two white elevations at its highest point, the light- 
houses of St. Adresse. 

“ Why — why — why ! ” he had said, on meeting 
her for the third time, and feeling that her glance 
was directed on him, the glance of a mature woman 
of the world, who sought an acquaintance. 

He had noticed her on the previous days, for she 
also seemed to be looking for some one. She was 
an Englishwoman, quite tall and rather thin, the 
bold Englishwoman whom travel and circumstances 
have rendered mannish. However, she was not 
bad-looking, walked with a short, decisive step, 
dressed plainly and neatly, but her headgear was 
peculiar, as their headgear always is. She had 
rather handsome eyes, high cheekbones, rather too 
red, and long teeth, which she always displayed. 


BOMBARD 


9r 

When he reached the dock he turned round and 
walked back again to see if he would meet her once 
more. He did so, and she looked at him as much 
as to say : 

“ Here I am.’’ 

But how could she speak to him? 

He walked back again for the fifth time, and as 
they approached face to face she let fall her um- 
brella. He darted forward, picked it up, and 
handed it to her, saying: 

“ Allow me, Madame ” 

" Adh, you are very kind,” she replied, in poor 
French. And they looked at one another. They 
knew not what to say. She was blushing. Sud- 
denly, gathering courage, he said : 

What beautiful weather this is ! ” 

Adh, delicious!” she murmured. 

And they stood there facing each other, embar- 
rassed, but not thinking, either of them, of mov- 
ing away. It was she who had the courage to ask : 

“ Are you going to be here long? ” 

Oh, yes ; as long as I wish,” he replied. Then, 
abruptly, he said : 

Would you like to walk to the pier? It is so 
pretty on a day like this.” 

“ I should like it,” she answered simply. 

And they walked along side by side, she with 
her short, decisive step, and he with his swinging 
gait, like a strutting turkey. 

Three months later the prominent merchants of 
Caen received, one morning, a large white wedding 
announcement : 


92 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ Monsieur and Madame Prosper Bombard have the 
honour to inform you of the marriage of their son, Simon 
Bombard, to Madame Kate Robinson, widow.” 

And on the other side: 

“ Madame Kate Robinson, widow, has the honour to in- 
form you of her marriage to Monsieur Simon Bombard.” 

They settled in Paris. The bride’s fortune was 
fifteen thousand francs a year, free from incum- 
brance. Simon wanted four hundred francs a 
month for his personal expenses. He had to show 
no difficulty in proving it and in obtaining his wish. 

All went smoothly at first. Madame Bombard 
was certainly not young, and had lost much of her 
freshness; but she had a way of exacting things 
which made it impossible to refuse her. She would 
say, with her English accent : 

“ Oh, Simon, now we must go to bed,” and Simon 
would start toward the bed like a dog who is or- 
dered “ To your kennel.” And she knew how to 
get her way on every occasion. 

She never got angry, never made scenes, never 
screamed; she never looked cross or hurt, or even 
sulky. She simply knew how to say a thing, that 
was all. And she always spoke to the point, in a 
tone that admitted of no reply. 

More than once Simon was about to demur ; but 
he always ended by yielding to the decisive and 
imperious wishes of this singular woman. How- 
ever, as his married life seemer rather monotonous, 
and as he had enough money to amuse himself 
with, he lost no opportunity of doing so, but had 
to be very cautious. 


BOMBARD 


93 


Madame Bombard perceived his infidelity, with- 
out his surmising in what manner, and she an- 
nounced, one evening, that she had hired a house 
in Mantes, where they would reside in future. 

His existence became less bearable. He tried to 
amuse himself in a variety of ways, but they were 
not as satisfactory as making conquests of women. 
He went fishing, knew how to distinguish between 
the places frequented by gudgeon, by carp, or by 
roach ; the favourite haunts of bream, and the vari- 
ous baits that tempted the different fish. But as 
he watched his float hobbling in the water his mind 
was on other things. 

He became friendly with the head of the office of 
the sub-prefecture and with the captain of gen- 
darmes, and they played whist in the evening at the 
Cafe de Commerce, but his mind’s eye saw the 
queen of clubs or the queen of diamonds, while his 
mind became muddled at the thought of these fig- 
ures with heads but no nether extremities. 

Then he thought of a scheme, the veritable 
scheme of a cunning Norman. He got his wife to 
hire a maid that he chose, not a pretty, dressy co- 
quette, but a strong, red-faced girl who would not 
awaken suspicion and whom he had prepared to 
carry out his plans. She was recommended to them 
privately by the director of customs, a complaisant 
friend who was in the plot and vouchsafed for her 
in every particular. Madame Bombard, suspecting 
nothing, accepted the treasure that was sent to her. 

Simon was happy, but cautiously happy, with 
some fear, and with incredible difficulties to con- 


94 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


tend with. He could not escape his wife’s anxious 
watchfulness except for a few moments now and 
then, and was always uneasy. He sought some 
ruse, some stratagem, and finally discovered one 
that was perfectly successful. 

Madame Bombard, who had nothing to occupy 
her, retired early, and Bombard, who played whist 
at the Cafe de Commerce, always came home pre- 
cisely at half-past nine. He had arranged for Vic- 
torine to wait for him in the dark in the hallway of 
the house, on the steps of the vestibule. When, at 
the end of a few minutes, the girl retired to her 
attic with a gold piece in her hand. Bombard 
laughed in triumph, repeating aloud like the bar- 
ber of King Midas as he was fishing for bleak-fish 
among the reeds in the river : 

“ Fooled this time, missus.” 

And the pleasure of fooling Madame Bombard 
was worth to him all that was lacking in his matri- 
monial arrangements. 

Now, one evening Victorine was waiting for him 
as usual on the steps, but she seemed more lively, 
more animated than usual, and they remained to- 
gether about ten minutes in the hall. When he 
entered the bedroom Madame Bombard was not 
there. A cold chill ran down his back, and he sank 
into a chair, tortured with anxiety. 

Just then she appeared, a candlestick in her hand. 

Did you go out ? ” he said tremblingly. 

“ I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water,” 
she replied calmly. 

He endeavoured to allay whatever suspicions she 


BOMBARD 


95 


might have, but she seemed quiet, happy, and trust- 
ing, and he was reassured. 

The following morning when they went into the 
dining-room to breakfast Victorine was putting the 
cutlets on the table. When she was moving away 
from the table Madame Bombard held out a gold 
piece to her with the tips of her fingers, and said 
in her calm, serious tone of voice ; 

“ Here, my girl, here is twenty francs that I de- 
prived you of last night. I am returning it to you.” 

And the astonished maid took the gold piece, 
which she gazed at in stupid amazement, while 
Bombard, terrified, stared at his wife with round, 
wide-open eyes. 


HIS CONFESSION 


A ll Veziers-le-Rethel had followed the funeral 
procession of Monsieur Badon-Leremince, 
and the last words of the funeral oration, 
pronounced by the delegate of the district, remained 
in the minds of all : “ He was an honest man, at 
least ! ” 

An honest man he had been in all the known acts 
of his life, in his words, in his example, his atti- 
tude, his behaviour, his enterprises, in the cut of his 
beard and the shape of his hats. He had never 
said a word that did not hold an example, never 
given an alms without adding a word of advice, 
never extended his hand without appearing to be- 
stow a benediction. 

He left two children : a boy and a girl. His son 
was Counsellor General, and his daughter, having 
married a lawyer. Monsieur Poirel de la Voulte, 
was at the top of the tree in Veziers. 

They were inconsolable at the death of their fa- 
ther, for they loved him sincerely. 

As soon as the ceremony was over they returned 
to the house of mourning, and, shutting themselves 
in the room, the son, daughter, and son-in-law, they 
opened the will, the seals of which were to be 


HIS CONFESSION 


97 


broken by them alone, and only after the coffin had 
been placed in the ground. This wish was expressed 
by a notice on the envelope. 

It was Monsieur Poirel de la Voulte who tore 
open the envelope, in his character of a lawyer used 
to such operations, and, having adjusted his glasses, 
he read, in his colourless voice made for reading 
the details of contracts : 

My children, my dear children, I could not sleep 
the eternal sleep in peace if I did not make to you 
from the tomb a confession, the confession of a 
crime remorse for which has ruined my life. Yes, 
I committed a crime, a frightful, abominable crime. 

“ I was then twenty-six, and I had just been 
called to the bar in Paris, and was living the life 
of young men from the provinces who are stranded 
in this town without acquaintances, relatives, or 
friends. 

“ I took a sweetheart. There are beings who 
cannot live alone. I was one of those. Solitude 
filled me with horrible anguish, the solitude of my 
room, beside my fire in the evening. I feel then as 
if I were alone on the earth, frightfully alone, but 
surrounded by vague dangers, unknown and terri- 
ble things ; and the partition that separates me from 
my neighbour, my neighbour whom I do not know, 
keeps me at as great a distance from him as the 
stars which I see through my window. A sort of 
fever pervades me, a fever of impatience and of 
fear, and the silence of the walls terrifies me. The 
silence of a room where one lives alone is so intense 
and so melancholy! It is not only a silence of the 


98 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


mind; when a piece of furniture cracks a shudder 
goes right through you, for you expect no noise in 
this melancholy abode. 

“ How many times, enervated, timid from this 
motionless silence, I have begun to talk, to repeat 
words without rhyme or reason, just to make some 
sound. My voice at those times appears so strange 
that I am afraid of that, also. Is there anything 
more dreadful than talking to one’s self in an empty 
house? One’s voice sounds like that of another, an 
unknown voice talking aimlessly, to no one, in the 
empty air, with no ear to listen to it, for one knows 
before they escape into the solitude of the room just 
what words are going to be uttered. And when 
they resound lugubriously in the silence, they seem 
no more than an echo, the peculiar echo of words 
whispered by one’s thought. 

“ My sweetheart was a young girl like all those 
young girls who live in Paris on wages that are 
insufficient to keep them. She was gentle, good, 
simple. Her parents lived at Poissy. She would go 
and spend several days with them from time to 
time. 

“For a year I lived quietly with her, fully de- 
cided to leave her when I should find some one 
whom I liked well enough to marry. I would make 
a little provision for this one, for it is an understood 
thing in our social set that a woman’s love should 
be paid for, in money if she is poor, in presents if 
she is rich. 

“ But one day she told me she was enceinte. I 
was thunderstruck, and saw in a second that my 


HIS CONFESSION 


99 


life would be ruined. I saw the fetter that I should 
wear until my death, everywhere, in my future fam- 
ily life, in my old age, forever; the fetter of a 
woman bound to my life through a child ; the fetter 
of the child whom I must bring up, watch over, 
protect, while keeping myself unknown to him, and 
keeping him hidden from the world. I was greatly 
disturbed at this news, and a confused longing, a 
criminal desire, surged through my mind. I did 
not formulate it, but I felt it in my heart ready to 
come to the surface, as if some one hidden behind 
a portiere should await the signal to come out. If 
some accident might only happen! There are so 
many of these little beings who die before they 
are born ! 

“ Oh, I did not wish my sweetheart to die ! The 
poor girl, I loved her very much. But I wished, 
possibly, that the child might die before I saw it. 

‘‘ He was born. I set up housekeeping in my 
room, an imitation home, with a child, horrible. 
He looked like all children. I did not care for him. 
Fathers, you see, do not show affection until later. 
They have not the instinctive and passionate ten- 
derness of mothers ; their affection has to be awak- 
ened gradually, their mind to become attached by 
bonds which are formed each day between beings 
who live in each other’s society. 

“ A year passed. I now avoided my home, that 
was too small, and where washing, baby clothes, 
stockings the size of gloves were lying round, a 
thousand articles of all descriptions, on the furni- 
ture, on the arm of an easy-chair, everywhere. I 


100 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


would go out chiefly that I might not hear it cry, 
hear him; for he cried on the slightest pretext, 
when he was changed, when he was bathed, when 
he was touched, when he was put to bed, when he 
was taken up in the morning, incessantly. 

“ I had made a few acquaintances and I met at a 
reception the one who was to be your mother. I 
fell in love with her and became anxious to marry 
her. I courted her, I asked her parents' consent to 
our marriage, and it was granted. 

“ And I found myself in this dilemma : I must 
either marry this young girl whom I adored, having 
a child already, or else tell the truth and renounce 
her and happiness and my future, everything; for 
her parents, who were people of rigid principles, 
would not give her to me if they knew. 

“ I passed a month of horrible anguish, of moral 
torture ;* a month haunted by a thousand frightful 
thoughts, and I felt developing in me a hatred to- 
ward my son, toward this little morsel of living, 
screaming flesh, who blocked my path, interrupted 
my life, condemned me to an existence without 
hope, without all those vague expectations that 
make the charm of youth. 

“ But just then my companion’s mother became 
ill. and I was left alone with the child. 

“ It was in December and the weather was ter- 
ribly cold. What a night! My companion had just 
left. I had dined alone in my little dining-room, 
and I went gently into the room where the little one 
was asleep. 

“ I sat down in an armchair before the fire. The 


HIS CONFESSION 


lOI 


wind was blowing, making the windows rattle, a 
dry, frosty wind, and I saw through the window 
the stars shining with that piercing brightness that 
they have on nights of frost. 

‘‘ Then the idea that had obsessed me for a 
month rose again to the surface. As soon as I was 
quiet it came to me and harassed me. It ate into 
my mind like a fixed idea, just as cancers must eat 
into the flesh. It was there, in my head, in my 
heart, in my whole body, it seemed to me, and it 
swallowed me up as a wild beast might have done. 
I endeavoured to drive it away, to repulse it, to 
open my mind to other thoughts, as one opens a 
window to the fresh morning air to drive out the 
vitiated night air; but I could not drive it from my 
brain, not even for a second. I do not know how 
to express this torture. It nibbled at my soul, and 
I felt a frightful pain, a real physical and moral 
pain, at each bite it gave. 

'' My life was over ! How could I get out of the 
situation? How could I draw back, and how could 
I confess? 

“ And I loved the one who was to become your 
mother with a mad passion that this insurmount- 
able obstacle only aggravated. 

A terrible rage was taking possession of me, 
choking me, a rage that verged on madness — on 
madness ! Surely I was crazy that evening ! 

“ The child was sleeping. I got up and looked 
at it asleep. It was he, this abortion, this spawn, 
this nothing, that condemned me to irremediable 
unhappiness. 


102 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ He was asleep, his mouth open, wrapped in his 
bedclothes, in a crib beside my bed, where I — I 
could not sleep. 

“ How did I ever do what I did ? How do I 
know ? What force urged me on ? What malevolent 
power took possession of me? Oh, the temptation 
to crime came to me without any forewarning. All 
I recall is that my heart beat tumultuously. It beat 
so hard that I could hear it as one hears the strokes 
of a hammer behind a partition. That is all I can 
recall — the beating of my heart ! In my head there 
was a strange confusion, a tumult, a senseless dis- 
order, a lack of presence of mind. It was one of 
those hours of bewilderment and hallucination when 
a man is neither conscious of his action nor can 
guide his will. 

“ I gently raised the coverings that concealed the 
body of the child ; I turned them down to the foot 
of the crib, and he lay there uncovered and naked. 

“ He did not wake. Then I went toward the 
window, softly, quite softly, and I opened it. 

“ A breath of icy air glided in like an assassin. 
It was so cold that I drew aside, and the two can- 
dles flickered. I remained standing near the win- 
dow, not daring to turn round, as if for fear of see- 
ing what was going on behind me, and feeling the 
icy air passing continuously across my forehead, 
my cheeks, my hands, the deadly air which kept 
streaming in. I stood there a long time. 

“ I was not thinking. I was not reflecting. All 
at once a little cough made me shudder frightfully 
from head to foot, a shudder that I feel still to the 


HIS CONFESSION 


103 


roots of my hair. And with a frantic movement I 
abruptly closed both sides of the window, and, turn- 
ing round, ran over to the crib. 

“ He was still asleep, his mouth open, quite 
naked. I touched his legs ; they were icy cold, and 
I covered them up. 

My heart was suddenly touched, grieved, filled 
with pity, tenderness, love for this poor innocent 
being that I had wished to kill. I kissed his fine 
soft hair long and tenderly; then I went and sat 
down before the fire. 

“ I reflected, with amazement, with horror, on 
what I had done, asking myself whence come those 
tempests of the soul in which a man loses all per- 
spective of things, all command over himself, and 
acts as in a condition of mad intoxication, not 
knowing what he is doing, not knowing whither he 
is going — like a vessel in a hurricane. 

“ The child coughed again, and it gave my heart 
a wrench. Supposing he should die ! Oh, God ! 
Oh, God ! What would become of me ? 

“ I rose from my chair to go and look at him, 
and with a candle in my hand I leaned over him. 
Seeing him breathing quietly, I felt reassured, when 
he coughed a third time. It gave me such a shock 
that I started backward, just as one does at sight of 
something horrible, and let my candle fall. 

“ As I stood erect, after picking it up, I noticed 
that my temples were bathed in perspiration, that 
hot and cold sweat, the result of anguish of soul. 
And I remained until daylight bending over my 
son, becoming calm when he remained quiet for 


104 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


some time, and filled with atrocious pain when a 
weak cough came from his mouth. 

“ He awoke with his eyes red, his throat choked 
up, and with an air of suffering. 

“ When the woman came in to do my room I 
sent her at once for a doctor. He came at the end 
of an hour and said, after examining the child : 

“ ‘ Did he not catch cold ? ’ 

“ I began to tremble like an old person with the 
palsy, and I faltered: 

" Non, I do not think so.’ 

“ And then I said : 

“‘What is the matter? Is it serious?’ 

“ ‘ I do not know yet,’ he replied. ‘ I will come 
again this evening.’ 

“ He came that evening. My son had remained 
almost all day in a condition of drowsiness, cough- 
ing from time to time. During the night inflam- 
mation of the lungs set in. 

“ That lasted ten days. I cannot express what 
I suffered in those interminable hours that divide 
morning from night, night from morning. 

“ He died. . . . 

“ And since — since that moment I have not 
passed one hour, not a single hour, without the 
frightful, burning recollection, a gnawing recollec- 
tion, a memory that seems to wrench one’s soul, 
awaking in me like a savage beast imprisoned in 
the depths of my soul. 

“ Oh ! if I could have gone mad ! ” 

* * * * J|c 


HIS CONFESSION 


105 

Monsieur Poirel de la Voulte raised his spec- 
tacles with a motion that was peculiar to him when- 
ever he finished reading a contract, and the three 
heirs of the defunct looked at one another without 
speaking, pale and motionless. 

At the end of a minute the lawyer resumed : 

'' That must be destroyed.” 

The other two bent their heads in sign of assent. 
He lighted a candle, carefully separated the pages 
containing the damaging confession from those re- 
lating, to the disposition of money, then he held 
them over the candle and threw them into the 
fireplace. 

And they watched the white sheets as they burned 
till they were presently reduced to little crumbling 
black heaps. And as some words were still visible 
in white tracing, the daughter, with little strokes of 
the toe of her shoe, crushed the burning paper, mix- 
ing it with the old ashes in the fireplace. 

Then they all three stood there watching it for 
some time, as though they feared that the burned- 
up secret might escape from the fireplace. 


MADEMOISELLE COCOTTE 


W E were just leaving the asylum when I saw 
a tall, thin man in a corner of the court 
who was obstinately pretending to call an 
imaginary dog. He was crying in a soft, tender 
voice : “ Cocotte ! Come here, Cocotte, my beauty ! 
and slapping his thigh as one does when calling an 
animal. I asked the physician : “ Who is that 

man?” He answered: “Oh! he is not at all 
interesting . . . he is a coachman named Frangois, 
who became insane after drowning his dog.” 

I insisted : “ Tell me his story. The most sim- 
ple and humble things are sometimes those which 
touch our hearts most deeply.” 

Here is this man’s adventure, which was ob- 
tained from a friend of his, a groom: 

There was a family of rich bourgeois who lived 
in a suburb of Paris. They had a villa in the mid- 
dle of a park, at the edge of the Seine. Their 
coachman was this Frangois, a country fellow, a 
little heavy, kind-hearted, simple, and easy to de- 
ceive. 

One evening, as he was returning home, a dog 
began to follow him. At first he paid no atten- 
tion to it, but the creature’s obstinacy at last made 


MADEMOISELLE COCOTTE ^ 10/ 

him turn around. He looked to see if he knew this 
dog. No, he had never seen it. It was a nursing 
female, and frightfully thin. She was trotting be- 
hind him with a mournful and famished look, her 
tail between her legs, her ears flattened against her 
head, and stopping and starting whenever he did. 

He tried to chase this skeleton away, and cried : 
“ Run along ! Get out ! kss ! kss ! ’’ She retreated 
a few steps, then sat down and waited ! And when 
the coachman started to walk again she followed 
along behind him. 

He pretended to pick up some stone. The ani- 
mal ran a little Tarther away, but came back again 
as soon as the man’s back was turned. 

Then the coachman Frangois took pity on the 
beast and called her. The dog approached timidly. 
The man patted her protruding ribs, moved by the 
beast’s misery, and he cried : “ Come ! come here ! ” 
Immediately she began to wag her tail, and, feeling 
herself taken in, adopted, she began to run along 
ahead of her new master. 

He made her a bed on the straw in the stable, 
then he ran to the kitchen for some bread. When 
she had eaten all she could she curled up and went 
to sleep. 

When the masters heard of this the next day 
they allowed the coachman to keep the animal. It 
was a good beast, caressing and faithful, intelligent 
and gentle. 

But soon they saw that she had a terrible fault. 
She was in love from one year’s end to another. In 
a very short while she had made the acquaintance 


io8 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


of all the dogs in the neighbourhood, who immedi- 
ately began to roam around her day and night. 
She distributed her favours to them with absolute 
impartiality, seeming to be on the best of terms 
with them all, dragging behind her a regular pack, 
composed of the most varied types of the barking 
race, some as large as the fist, others the size of 
donkeys. She trotted them along all the roads 
on endless journeys, and when she would stop 
to rest on the grass they would make a circle 
about her and watch her with their tongues hang- 
ing out. 

The people of the neighbourhood looked upon her 
as a phenomenon; they had never seen anything 
like it. The veterinary was at a loss. At night, 
when she would return to the stable, the crowd of 
dogs would besiege the estate. They would slip in 
through every break in the hedge, trample down the 
plots, pull up the flowers, dig holes in the ground, 
and generally exasperate the gardener, and they 
would howl all night, gathered around the building 
where their friend lay; and nothing could persuade 
them to leave. 

During the daytime they would even go into the 
house. It was an invasion, a play, a disaster. At 
all moments the masters would find on the stairs 
and even in their rooms little yellow terriers, point- 
ers, bulldogs, mangy curs with neither home nor 
hearth, enormous Newfoundlands which frightened 
the children. 

Then, all over the countryside, people began to 
see unknown dogs who had come from they knew 


MADEMOISELLE COCOTTE 


109 


not where, living no one knew how, and who had 
then disappeared again. 

Nevertheless, Francois adored Cocotte, and he 
kept repeating : “ That beast is human. She only- 
lacks speech.” 

He had a magnificent red leather collar made for 
her which bore these words engraved on a copper 
plate : “ Mademoiselle Cocotte, belonging to the 

coachman Frangois.” 

She had become enormous. She was now as fat 
as she had been thin. She had grown stout all of 
a sudden, and now walked with difficulty, like hu- 
man beings who are too obese, and she would pant 
as soon as she would start to run. 

She showed an extraordinary fertility ; four 
times a year she would give birth to a batch of little 
animals belonging to every variety of the canine 
race. Frangois would pick out one which he would 
leave her, and then he would unmercifully throw 
the others into the river. But soon the cook joined 
her complaints to those of the gardener. She would 
find dogs under the stove, in the ice box, in the 
coal bin, and they would steal everything they came 
across. 

The master impatiently ordered Frangois to get 
rid of Cocotte. In despair, the man tried to give 
her away. Nobody wanted her. Then he decided 
to lose her, and he gave her to a teamster, who 
was to drop her on the other side of Paris, near 
Joinville-le-Pont. 

Cocotte returned the same day. Some decision 
had to be taken. Five francs was given to a train 


IIO guy DE MAUPASSANT 

conductor to take her to Havre. He was to drop 
her there. 

Three days later she returned to the stable, 
scratched up, harassed, and tired out. 

The master took pity on her and let her stay. 
But the other dogs soon returned, more numerous 
than ever. And one evening, when a big dinner 
party was on, a stuffed turkey was carried away by 
a dog right under the cook’s nose ; and she did not 
■dare to stop him. 

This time the master completely lost his tem- 
per, and angrily told Frangois : “If you don’t 
throw this beast into the water before to-morrow 
morning, I’ll put you out, do you hear?” 

The man was dumfounded, and he returned to 
his room to pack his trunk, preferring to leave the 
place. Then he bethought himself that he could find 
no other place as long as he dragged this animal 
behind him ; he thought of the good position, where 
he was well paid and well fed, and he decided that 
a dog was really not worth all that; at last he took 
the decision to rid himself of Cocotte at daybreak. 

He slept badly. He rose at dawn, seized a strong 
rope, and went to get the dog. She stood up slowly, 
shook herself, stretched, and came to her master. 

Then his courage forsook him, and he began to 
kiss her tenderly, petting her and calling her ten- 
der names. 

But a neighbouring clock struck six. He could 
no longer hesitate. He opened the door, calling; 
“ Come ! ” The beast wagged her tail, understand- 
ing that she was to be taken out. 


MADEMOISELLE COCOTTE 


III 


They reached the beach, and he chose a place 
where the water seemed deep. Then he knotted the 
rope around the leather collar and tied a heavy 
stone to the other end. He seized Cocotte in his 
arms and kissed her madly, as though he were tak- 
ing leave of some human being. He held her to his 
breast, rocked her, and called her “ my dear little 
Cocotte, my sweet little Cocotte,” and she grunted 
with pleasure. 

Ten times he tried to throw her into the water,, 
and each time he lost courage. 

But suddenly he took his decision, and he threw 
her as far from him as he could. At first she tried 
to swim, as she did when he gave her a bath, but 
her head, dragged down by the stone, kept going 
under ; and she looked at her master with wild, hu- 
man glances as she struggled like a drowning per- 
son. Then the front part of her body sank while 
her hind legs waved wildly out of the water ; finally 
those also disappeared. 

Then, for five minutes, bubbles rose to the sur- 
face as though the river were boiling; and Frangois, 
haggard, his heart beating, thought that he saw Co- 
cotte struggling in the mud ; and, with the simplicity 
of a peasant, he kept saying to himself : “ What’s 
the poor beast think of me now ? ” 

He almost lost his mind ; he was sick for a month, 
and every night he dreamed of his dog; he could 
feel her licking his hands and hear her barking. It 
was necessary to call in a physician. At last he re- 
covered, and toward the end of June his masters, 
took him to their estate at Biessard, near Rouen. 


II2 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


There again he was near the Seine. He began to 
take baths. Each morning he would go down with 
the groom, and they would swim across the river. 

One day, as they were disporting themselves in 
the water, Francois suddenly cried to his com- 
panion : “ Look what’s coming ! I’m going to give 
you a chop ! ” 

It was an enormous, swollen corpse that was 
floating down with its feet sticking straight up in 
the air. 

Frangois swam up to it, still joking: “Whew! 
it’s not fresh. What a catch, old man! It isn’t 
thin, either I ” He kept swimming around at a 
distance from the stupefying beast. Then suddenly 
he was silent and looked at it strangely ; this time he 
came near enough to touch it. He looked fixedly 
at the collar, then he stretched out his arm, seized 
the neck, twisted the corpse around, and drew it up 
close to him and read on the copper, which had 
turned green and which still stuck to the discol- 
oured leather : “ Mademoiselle Cocotte, belonging 

to the coachman Frangois.” 

The dead dog had come more than a hundred 
miles to find its master! 

He let out a frightful shriek, and began to swim 
for the beach with all his might, still howling; and 
as soon as he touched land he ran away wildly, 
stark naked, through the country. He was insane ! 


RUSTIC TRIBUNALS 


T he courtroom of Gorgeville is full of peasants 
who are standing along the walls, motion- 
less, awaiting the opening. 

There are tall ones and short ones, fat, red-faced 
ones and dried-up, thin ones. They have placed 
their baskets on the ground, and they stand there 
quiet and silent, engrossed by their own business. 
They have brought with them the odour of the 
stable and of perspiration, of sour milk and the 
dungheap. Flies are buzzing on the white ceiling. 
Through the open door can be heard the crowing 
of cocks. 

On a sort of platform stands a long table covered 
by green cloth. A wrinkled old man is sitting at 
the left end of it, writing. Sitting to the extreme 
right is a gendarme. On the bare wall a great 
wooden Christ, twisted into a' painful position, 
seems still to offer his eternal suffering for these 
brutes with the odours of beasts. 

The Justice of the Peace finally enters. He is 
fat, high-coloured, and his official gown flaps be- 
hind him as he hurries on. He sits down and looks 
at the audience with a look of supreme disdain. 

He is one of these educated provincials, one of 


1 14 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

those who translate Horace, enjoy Voltaire’s verse, 
and know Vert-Vert by heart, as well as the risque 
poems of Parny. 

He calls : “ Well, Monsieur Potel, call the cases.” 
Then he smiles and murmurs : Quidquid ten- 

tabam die ere versus eratV 

The clerk of the court raises his bald head and 
mutters unintelligibly ; “ Madame Victoire Bascule 
versus Isidore Paturon.” 

An enormous countrywoman comes forward, one 
of the ladies of the county seat, with a beribboned 
hat, a watch chain stretched across her bosom, rings 
on her fingers, and earrings shining like lighted 
candles. 

The Justice of the Peace bows to her with a look 
of recognition, in which there is a glint of jest, and 
he says : ” Madame Bascule, please make clear 

your troubles.” 

The opposing party stands on the other side. It 
is represented by three persons. In the middle 
stands a young peasant of twenty-five, as plump as 
an apple and as red as a poppy. To his right is his 
wife, very young, thin, short, like a bantam chicken, 
with a narrow, flat head on which is fastened a pink 
bonnet. She has a round, surprised, and angry eye 
with which she glances sideways, after the fashion 
of poultry. To the left of the boy stands his 
father, a bent old man, whose twisted body disap- 
pears in his starched blouse as though it were un- 
der a bell. 

Madame Bascule explains : “ Your Honour, fif- 
teen years ago I took this boy in. I have brought 


RUSTIC TRIBUNALS 


II5 

him up and loved him as a mother, I have done 
everything for him, I have made a man of him. He 
had promised, he had sworn not to leave me. He 
even signed an agreement, for which I gave him 
my little estate of Bec-de-Mortin, which is worth 
about six thousand. Now this little snip, this minx, 
this hussy ” 

The Justice : Moderate your language, Madame 
Bascule. 

Madame Bascule : This little . . . this little 

. . . well, I know what she is . . . turned 

his head, did I don’t know what to him . . . 

and this big fool is going to marry her, and bring 
to her my property, my estate of Bec-de-Mortin. 
. . . Oh ! no, no, indeed ! . . . I have a pa- 
per, here it is . . . then let him give me back 

my property. We had a deed made out before the 
notary for the property, and a private paper for 
friendship. One is worth the other. Each one is 
secure that way, isn’t he? 

{She holds out to the Justice a large stamped 
paper . ) 

Isidore Paturon: It isn’t true. 

The Justice: Keep still. You’ll talk when your 
turn comes. 

He reads : *T, the undersigned, Isidore Paturon, 
promise by this paper to my benefactress, Madame 
Bascule, never to leave her during my lifetime, and 
to serve her with devotion. Gorgeville, August 5, 
1883.” 

The Justice: There is a cross as a signature. 
Can’t you write ? 


Il6 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

Isidore : No. 

The Justice : Did you make that cross? 

Isidore : No. 

The Justice: Well, then, who did it? 

Isidore : She did it. 

The Justice: Are you prepared to swear that 
you never made this cross? 

Isidore {earnestly) : I swear on the head of my 
father, of my mother, of my grandfather, of my 
grandmother, and of God who hears me, I swear it 
wasn’t I. {He raises his hand and spits to 
strengthen his oath.) 

The Justice {laughing) : What were your rela- 
tions with Madame Bascule, here present? 

Isidore: She used me for her pleasure. {Laugh- 
ter in the audience.) 

The Justice: You mean to say that your rela- 
tions were not as pure as she claims. 

Father Paturon {interrupting) : He wasn’t fif- 
teen, not fifteen, your Honour, when she despatched 

him. ... 

The Justice: You mean debauched, don’t you? 

The Father: I don’t know. He wasn’t fifteen. 
For four years she had been feeding him like a 
stuffed chicken, stuffing enough food into him to 
make him burst, saving your respect. And when 
the time had come when he seemed ready, she de- 
praved him. . . . 

The Justice: Depraved? And you allowed it? 

The Father : It didn’t make any difference 
whether it was she or another ; it had to happen. 

The Justice : Then of what are you complaining? 


RUSTIC TRIBUNALS 


1 17 

The Father: Nothing! Fm not complaining; 
only he’s had enough, and he can’t get away. I ask 
for protection from the law. 

Madame Bascule : Your Honour, these people 
have been overwhelming you with lies. I made a 
man of him. 

The Justice : I should say you had I 

Madame Bascule : Now he wants to leave me ; 
he wants to rob me. . . . 

Isidore: It’s not true. Judge. Five years ago 
I wanted to leave her because she got too fat, and 
I didn’t like it. I told her I was going to leave her. 
Then she cries like a sponge, and said she’d give 
me Bec-de-Mortin to spend four or five more years 
with her. I said: “Yes, certainly!” Wouldn’t 
you? I stayed five years, day fer day, hour fer 
hour. I was quits. Wasn’t it worth it? {Isidore's 
wife, who had been silent up to then, cries out in a 
piercing voice) : 

“Look at her, look at her. Judge! Wasn’t it 
worth it ? ” 

The father nods his head in a convinced manner, 
and repeats : “ It certainly was worth it.” 

Madame Bascule sinks onto the bench behind 
her, and begins to cry. 

The Justice {paternally) : My dear lady, I’m 
afraid that I can do nothing for you. You gave 
him your estate of Bec-de-Mortin in a perfectly 
regular manner. It certainly belongs to him. He 
had the unquestionable right to do whatever he 
wished with it,, and to bring it to his wife as a 
dowry. It is not for me to enter into questions of 


Il8 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

. . . of ... of delicacy. I must look at 

the thing from a legal point of view. I can do 
nothing. 

Father Paturon {proudly) : May I go home? 

The Justice: Certainly. 

{They go away under the sympathetic looks of 
the peasants, like people whose case is won. Ma- 
dame Bascule sits sobbing on the bench.) 

The Justice {smiling) : Calm yourself, dear lady, 
calm yourself. And if I have some advice to give 
you, it is to look for another — pupil. 

Madame Bascule {through her tears) : I can’t 
find another. 

The Justice : I am sorry that I am unable to 
recommend one to you. 

{She throws a despairing look toward the Christ 
on the cross, then she rises and leaves slowly, still 
weeping and hiding her face in her handkerchief.) 

The Justice {turning toward the clerk of the 
court, and in a bantering voice) : Calypso could not 
be comforted after the departure of Ulysses. 
. . . {In a serious voice) : Call the following 

cases. 

The Clerk of the Court {mumbling) : Celestin 
Polyte Lecacheur versus Prosper Magloire Dieula- 
fait. 


A STROLL 


W HEN Old Man Leras, bookkeeper for Mes- 
sieurs Labuze and Company, left the store, 
he stood for a minute bewildered at the 
glory of the setting sun. He had worked all day 
in the yellow light of a small jet of gas, far in the 
back of the store, on a narrow court, as deep as a 
well. The little, room where he had been spending 
his days for forty years was so dark that even in the 
middle of summer one could only go without the 
gaslight from eleven until three. 

It was always damp and cold, and from this hole 
onto which his window opened came the musty 
odour of a sewer. 

For forty years Monsieur Leras had been ar- 
riving every morning in this prison at eight o’clock, 
and he would remain there until seven at night, 
bending over his books, writing with the application 
of a good clerk. 

He was now making three thousand francs a 
year, having started at fifteen hundred. He had 
remained a bachelor, as his means had not allowed 
him the luxury of a wife, and as he had never en- 
joyed anything, he desired nothing. From time to 
time however, tired of his continuous and monot- 


120 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


onous work, he formed a platonic wish : ‘‘ Gad ! If 
I only had an income of fifteen thousand francs, I 
would take life easy.” 

He had never taken life easy, as he had never 
had anything but his monthly salary. His life had 
been uneventful, without emotions, without hopes. 
The faculty of dreaming with which every one is 
blessed had never developed in the mediocrity of 
his ambitions. 

When he was twenty-one he entered the employ 
of Messieurs Labuze and Company. And he had 
never left them. 

In 1856 he had lost his father, and then his 
mother in 1859. Since then the only incident in his 
life was when he moved, in 1868, because his land- 
lord had tried to raise his rent. 

Every day his alarm clock made him jump out 
of bed at exactly six, with a frightful noise of rat- 
tling chains. 

Twice, however, this piece of mechanism had 
been out of order. Once in 1866 and again in 1874; 
he had never been able to find out the reason why. 
He would dress, make his bed, sweep his room, dust 
his chair and the top of his bureau. All this took 
him an hour and a half. 

Then he would go out, buy a roll at the Lahure 
Bakery, in which he had seen eleven different own- 
ers without the name ever changing, and he would 
eat this roll on the way to the office. 

His entire existence had been spent in the nar- 
row, dark office, which was still decorated with the 
same wall paper. He had entered there as a young 


A STROLL 


I2I 


man, as assistant to Monsieur Brument, and with 
the desire to replace him. 

He had taken his place and wished for nothing 
more. 

The whole harvest of memories which other men 
reap in their span of years, the unexpected events, 
sweet or tragic loves, adventurous journeys, all the 
occurrences of a free existence, all these things had 
remained unknown to him. 

Days, weeks, months, seasons, years, all were 
alike to him. He got up every day at the same 
hour, started out, arrived at the office, ate luncheon, 
went away, had dinner, and went to bed without 
ever interrupting the regular monotony of similar 
actions, deeds, and thoughts. 

Formerly he used to look at his blond moustache 
and wavy hair in the little round mirror left by his 
predecessor. Now, every evening before leaving, 
he would look at his white moustache and bald head 
in the same mirror. Forty years had rolled by, 
long and rapid, dreary as a day of sadness and as 
similar as the hours of a nightmare! Forty years 
of which nothing remained, not even a memory, not 
even a misfortune, since the death of his parents. 
Nothing. 

That day Monsieur Leras stood by the door, daz- 
zled at the brilliancy of the setting sun ; and in- 
stead of returning home he decided to take a little 
stroll before dinner, a thing which happened to him 
four or five times a year. 

He reached the boulevards, where people were 
streaming along under the green trees. It was a 


122 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


spring evening, one of those first warm and pleasant 
evenings which fill the heart with the joy of life. 

Monsieur Leras went along with his mincing old 
man’s step; he was going along with joy in his 
heart, at peace with the world. He reached the 
Champs-Elysees, and he continued to walk, en- 
livened at the sight of the young people trotting 
along. 

The whole sky was aflame; the Arc de Triomphe 
stood out against the brilliant background of the 
horizon, like a giant surrounded by fire. As he ap- 
proached the gigantic monument, the old book- 
keeper noticed that he was hungry, and he went 
into a wine dealer’s for dinner. 

The meal was served in front of the store, on the 
sidewalk ; it consisted of some mutton, salad, and 
asparagus; it was the best dinner that Monsieur 
Leras had had in a long time. He washed down 
his cheese with a small bottle of burgundy, had his 
after-dinner cup of coffee, a thing which he rarely 
took, and finally a little pony of brandy. 

When he had paid he felt quite youthful, even a 
little moved. And he said to himself : “ What a 

fine evening! I will continue my stroll as far as 
the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. It will do 
me good.” 

He set out. An old tune which one of his neigh- 
bours used to sing kept returning to his mind. He 
kept on humming it over and over again. A hot, 
still night had fallen over Paris. Monsieur Leras 
was following along the Avenue du Bois de Bou- 
logne and watching the cabs drive by. They kept 


A STROLL 


125 


coming with their shining lights, one behind the 
other, giving him a glimpse of the couples inside, 
the women in their light dresses and the men 
dressed in black. 

It was one long procession of lovers, riding un- 
der the warm, starlit sky. They kept on coming in 
rapid succession. They passed by in the carriages, 
pressed against each other, lost in their dreams, in 
the emotion of desire, in the anticipation of the ap- 
proaching embrace. The warm shadows seemed ta 
be full of floating kisses. A sensation of tenderness, 
filled the air. All these embracing couples, all these 
people intoxicated with the same idea, with the 
same thought, made the atmosphere around them 
feverish. 

At last Monsieur Leras grew a little tired of 
walking, and he sat down on a bench to watch these 
carriages pass by with their burdens of love. Al- 
most immediately a woman walked up to him and 
sat down beside him. Good evening, papa,” she 
said. 

He did not answer, and she continued : “ Let me 
love you, dearie ; you’ll see how nice I can be.” 

He answered : “ Madame, you are mistaken.” 

She slipped her arm through his, saying : “ Come 
along, now ; don’t be foolish, listen. . \ . .” 

He arose and walked away, with sadness in his 
heart. A few yards away another woman walked 
up to him and asked : “ Won’t you sit down be- 

side me ? ” 

He said : What makes you do that ? ” 

She stood before him and in an altered, hoarse,. 


124 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


angry voice exclaimed: “Well, it isn’t for the 
fun of it, anyhow ! ” 

He insisted in a gentle voice : “ Then what 

makes you ? ” 

She grumbled : “ I’ve got to live ! Foolish ques- 
tion ! ” And she walked away, humming. 

Monsieur Leras stood there bewildered. Other 
women were passing near him, speaking to him and 
calling to him. He felt as though he were envel- 
oped in darkness, by something disagreeable. 

He sat down again on a bench ; the carriages 
were still rolling by. He thought : “ I should have 
done better not to come here ; I feel all upset.” 

He began to think of all this venal or passionate 
love, of all these kisses, sold or given, which were 
passing by in front of him. Love ! He scarcely 
knew it. In his lifetime he had only known two or 
three women, his means forcing him to live a quiet 
life, and he looked back at the life which he had 
led, so different from everybody else, so dreary, so 
mournful, so empty. 

Some people are really unfortunate. And sud- 
denly, as though a veil had been torn from his 
eyes, he perceived the infinite misery, the monotony 
of his existence; the past, present, and future mis- 
ery; his last day similar to his first one, with noth- 
ing before him, behind him or about him, nothing 
in his heart or any place. 

The stream of carriages was still going by. In 
the rapid passage of the open cab he still saw the 
two silent and embracing creatures. It seemed to 
him that the whole of humanity was flowing on be- 


A STROLL 


125 


fore him, intoxicated with joy, pleasure, and happi- 
ness. He alone was looking on. To-morrow he 
would again be alone, always alone, more so than 
any one else. He stood up, took a few steps, and 
suddenly he felt as tired as though he had taken a 
long journey on foot, and he sat down on the next 
bench. 

What was he waiting for? What was he hoping 
for? Nothing. He was thinking of how pleasant 
it must be in old age to return home and find the 
little children. It is pleasant to grow old when one 
is surrounded by those beings who owe their life 
to you, who love you, who caress you, who tell you 
charming and foolish little things which warm your 
heart and console you for everything. 

And, thinking of his empty room, clean and sad, 
where no one but himself ever entered, a feeling of 
distress filled his soul ; and the place seemed to him 
more mournful even than his little office. Nobody 
ever came there ; no one ever spoke in it. It was 
dead, silent, without the echo of a human voice. It 
seems as though the walls retain something of the 
people who live within them, something of their 
manner, face and voice. The houses inhabited b}' 
happy families are gayer than the dwellings of the 
unfortunate. His room was as barren of memories 
as his life. And the thought of returning to this 
place, all alone, of getting into his bed, of doing 
over again all the movements and actions of every 
evening, this thought terrified him. As though to 
escape farther from this sinister home, and from 
the time when he would have to return to it, he 


126 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


arose and walked out on the grass behind the 
bushes. 

About him, above him, everywhere, he heard the 
continuous, immense, confused rumble, composed of 
countless and different noises, a vague and great 
palpitation of life; the breath of Paris, breathing 
like a giant. 

The sun was already shedding a flood of light on 
the Bois de Boulogne. Several carriages were be- 
ginning to drive about, and people were appearing 
on horseback. 

A couple was walking through a deserted alley. 
Suddenly the young woman raised her eyes and 
saw something brown in the branches. Surprised 
and anxious, she raised her hand, exclaiming : 
'' Look ! what is that? ” 

Then she shrieked and fell into the arms of her 
companion, who was forced to place her on the 
ground. 

The policeman who had been called took down 
an old man who had hung himself with his suspend- 
ers. 

Examination showed that he had died on the eve- 
ning before. The papers found on him showed that 
he was a bookkeeper with Messieurs Labuze and 
Company, and that his name was Leras. 

The death was attributed to suicide, the cause of 
which could not be suspected. Perhaps a sudden 
access of madness! 


THE DOOR 


A h ! ” exclaimed Karl Massouligny, the ques- 
tion of complaisant husbands is a difficult 
one. I have seen many kinds, and yet I am 
unable to give an opinion about any of them. I have 
often tried to determine whether they are blind, 
weak, or clairvoyant. I believe that there are some 
which belong to each of these categories. 

“ Let us quickly pass over the blind ones. They 
cannot rightly be called complaisant, since they do 
not know, but they are good creatures who cannot 
see farther than their nose. It is a curious and in- 
teresting thing to notice the ease with which men 
and women can be deceived. We are taken in by 
the slightest trick of those who surround us — of 
our children, our friends, our servants, our trades- 
people. Humanity is credulous, and in order to 
discover deceit of others, we do not display one- 
tenth the finesse which we use when we, in turn, 
wish to deceive some one else. 

The clairvoyant husbands can be divided into 
three classes. Those who have some interest, pe- 
cuniary, ambitious or otherwise, in their wife’s hav- 
ing a lover, or lovers. These ask only to safe- 
guard appearances as near as possible, and they are 
satisfied. 


128 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ Next come those who get angry. What a beau- 
tiful novel one could write about them! 

“ Finally the weak ones ! Those who are afraid 
of scandal. 

“ There are also those who are powerless, or, 
rather, tired, who escape the conjugal bed from fear 
of ataxia or apoplexy, who are satisfied to see a 
friend run these risks. 

But I have met a husband of a rare species, 
and who guarded against the common accident in a 
strange and witty manner. 

In Paris I had made the acquaintance of an 
elegant, fashionable couple. The woman, nervous, 
tall, slender, courted, was supposed to have had 
many adventures. She pleased me with her wit, 
and I believe that I pleased her, also. I courted 
her, a trial courting to which she answered with 
evident provocations. Soon we arrived at the edge 
of tender glances, pressures of the hands, all the lit- 
tle gallantries which precede the great attack. 

“ Nevertheless, I hesitated. I believe that, as a 
rule, the majority of society intrigues, however 
short they may be, are not worth the trouble which 
they give us and the difficulties which may arise. I 
therefore mentally compared the advantages and 
disadvantages which I could expect, and I thought 
that I noticed that the husband suspected me. 

“ One evening, at a ball, as I was saying tender 
things to the young woman in a little parlour lead- 
ing from the big hall where the dancing was going 
on, I noticed in a mirror the reflection of some one 
who was watching us. It was he. Our looks ^ 


THE DOOR 


129 


met, and then I saw him turn his head and walk 
away. 

I murmured: ‘ Your husband is spying on us.’ 

'' She seemed dumfounded, and asked : ' My 

husband ? ’ 

Yes, he has been watching us for some time.’ 

“ * Nonsense ! Are you sure ? ’ 

“ ‘ Very sure.’ 

How strange ! He is usually very pleasant 
with all my friends.’ 

“ ‘ Perhaps he guessed that I love you ! ’ 

Nonsense ! You were not the first one to pay 
attention to me. Every woman who is a little in 
view drags behind her a herd of sighers.’ 

'' ' Yes. But I love you deeply.’ 

“ ' Admitting that that is true, does a husband 
ever guess those things ? ’ 

‘ Then he is not jealous ? ’ 

‘ No— no ! ’ 

She thought for an instant, and then continued : 
‘No. I do not think that I ever noticed any jeal- 
ousy on his part.’ 

“ ‘ Has he never — watched you ? ’ 

“ ‘ No. As I said, he is always agreeable to my 
friends.’ 

“ From that day my courting became much more 
assiduous. The woman did not please me any more 
than before, but the probable jealousy of her hus- 
band tempted me greatly. 

“As for her, I judged her coolly and clearly. 
She had a certain worldly charm, due to a quick, 
gay, amiable, and superficial mind, but no real, deep 


130 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


attraction. She was, as I have already said, a little 
nervous, and quite elegant. How can I explain my- 
self? It was . . a decoration, not a home. 

“ One day, after taking dinner with her, her hus- 
band said to me, just as I was leaving: ‘ My dear 
friend^ (he now called me ‘friend’), ‘we soon 
leave for the country. It is a great pleasure for my 
wife and myself to receive the people whom we like. 
We would like to have you spend a month with us. 
It would be very nice of you to do so.’ 

“ I was dumfounded, but I accepted. 

“ A month later I arrived at their estate of Vert- 
cresson, in Touraine. They were waiting for me 
at the station, five miles from the chateau. There 
were three of them, she, the husband, and a gentle- 
man unknown to me, the Comte de Morterade, to 
whom I was introduced. He appeared to be de- 
lighted to make my acquaintance, and the strangest 
ideas passed through my mind while we trotted 
along the beautiful road between two hedges. I was 
saying to myself : ‘ Let’s see, what can this mean ? 
Here is a husband who cannot doubt that his wife 
and I are on more than friendly terms, and yet he 
invites me to his house, receives me like an old 
friend, and seems to say : “ Go ahead, my friend, 

the road is clear ! ” 

“ ‘ Then I am introduced to a very pleasant gen- 
tleman, who seems already to have settled down in 
the house, and . . . and who is perhaps trying 

to get out of it, and who seems as pleased at my 
arrival as the husband himself. 

“ ‘ Is it some former lover who wishes to retire ? 


THE DOOR 


I3I 

One might think so. But, then, would these two 
men tacitly have come to one of these infamous lit- 
tle agreements so common in society? And it is 
proposed to me that I should quietly enter into the 
association and take up the continuation of it. All 
hands and arms are held out to me. All doors and 
hearts are open to me. 

“ ‘ And what about her ? An enigma. She can- 
not be ignorant of everything. However? . . . 

however ? . . . that’s it. I understand noth- 

ing.’ 

“ The dinner was very gay and cordial. On leav- 
ing the table the husband and his friend began 
to play cards, while I went out on the porch to look 
at the moonlight with Madame. She seemed to be 
greatly moved by nature, and I judged that the mo- 
ment for my happiness was near. That evening she 
was really delightful. The country had seemed to 
make her more tender. Her long, slender waist 
looked pretty on this stone porch beside a great 
vase in which grew some flowers. I felt like drag- 
ging her out under the trees, throwing myself at 
her feet, and speaking to her words of love. 

“ Her husband’s voice called : ‘ Louise ? ’ 

“ ' Yes, my dear.’ 

‘‘ ‘ You are forgetting the tea.’ 

“ ' I’ll go right for it, my friend.’ 

“ We returned to the house, and she served us 
with tea. When the two men had finished playing 
cards, they were visibly tired. I had to go to my 
room. I did not get to sleep till late, and then I 
slept badly. 


132 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ An excursion was decided upon for the follow- 
ing afternoon, and we went in an open carriage to 
visit some ruins. She and I were in the back of the 
vehicle and they were opposite us, riding back- 
ward. The conversation was sympathetic and 
agreeable. I am an orphan, and it seemed to me as 
though I had just found my family, I felt so at 
home with them. 

“ Suddenly, as she had stretched out her foot 
between her husband’s legs, he murmured reproach- 
fully : ‘ Louise, please don’t use up your old shoes 
yourself. There is no reason for being neater in 
Paris than in the country.’ 

“ I lowered my eyes. She was indeed wearing 
worn-out shoes, and I noticed that her stockings 
were not pulled up tightly. 

“ She had blushed and hidden her foot under 
her dress. The friend was looking out in the dis- 
tance, with an indifferent and unconcerned look. 

“ The husband offered me a cigar, which I ac- 
cepted. For a few days it was impossible for me to 
be alone with her for two minutes ; he was with us 
everywhere. He was delightful to me. 

“ One morning he came to get me to take a walk 
before breakfast, and the conversation happened to 
turn to marriage. I spoke a little about solitude, 
and about how charming life can be made by a 
woman. Suddenly he interrupted me, saying : ‘ My 
friend, don’t talk about things you know nothing 
about. A woman who has no more reason for lov- 
ing you will not love you for a long time. All the 
little coquetries which make them so exquisite when 


THE DOOR 


133 


they do not definitely belong to us cease as soon as 
they become ours. And then ... the re- 
spectable women . . . that is to say, our wives 

. . . are . . . are not . . . quite . . . 
do not understand their profession of wife. Do 
you understand ? ’ 

“ He said no more, and I could not guess his 
thoughts. 

Two days after this conversation he called me 
to his room quite early in order to show me a col- 
lection of engravings. I sat in an easy-chair oppo- 
site the big door which separated his apartment 
from his wife’s, and behind this door I heard some 
one walking and moving, and I was thinking very 
little of the engravings, although I kept exclaim- 
ing : ' Oh, charming ! delightful ! exquisite ! ’ 

“ He suddenly said : ‘ Oh ! I have a beautiful 

specimen in the next room. I’ll go get it.’ 

“ He ran to the door quickly, and both sides 
opened as though for a theatrical effect. 

“ In a large room, all in* disorder, in the midst 
of skirts, collars, waists lying around on the floor, 
stood a tall, dried-up creature. The lower part of 
her body was covered with an old, worn-out silk 
petticoat, which was hanging limply to her shapeless 
form, and she was standing in front of a mirror 
brushing some short, sparse blond hairs. Her arms 
formed two acute angles, and as she turned around 
in astonishment I saw under a common cotton 
chemise a regular cemetery of ribs, which were hid- 
den from the public gaze by well-arranged pads. 

"The husband uttered a natural cry and came 


134 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


back, closing the doors, and said : ‘ Gracious ! how 
stupid I am! Oh, how thoughtless! My wife will 
never forgive me for that ! ’ 

I already felt like thanking him. I left three 
days later, after cordially shaking hands with the 
two men and kissing the lady’s fingers ; she bade me 
a cold good-by.” 

Karl Massouligny was silent. Some one asked: 
“ But what was the friend ? ” 

I don’t know . . . however . . . how- 

ever, he looked greatly distressed to see me leaving 
so soon.” 


THE NIGHT OF THE WEDDING 


F or a long time Jacques Bourdillere had sworn 
that he would never marry; but he suddenly 
changed his mind. It happened suddenly, 
one summer, at the seashore. 

One morning, as he lay stretched out on the sand, 
watching the women coming out of the water, a 
little foot had struck him by its neatness and dainti- 
ness. He looked up higher and was delighted with 
the whole person. By the way, he could see noth- 
ing but the ankles and the head emerging from a 
flannel bathrobe carefully held closed. He was 
supposed to be sensual and a fast liver. It was, 
therefore, only through the graceful form that he 
was at first captured ; then he was held by the 
charm of the young girl’s sweet mind, so simple 
and good, as fresh as her cheeks and lips. 

He was presented to the family and pleased 
them ; he immediately fell madly in love. When he 
would see Berthe Lannis in the distance, on the 
long yellow stretch of sand, he would tingle to the 
roots of his hair. When he was near her he would 
become silent, unable to speak or even to think, 
with a kind of bubbling in his heart, of buzzing in 
his ears, and of bewilderment in his mind. Was 
that love? 


136 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


He did not know or understand, but he had fully 
decided to have this child for his wife. 

Her parents hesitated for a long time, restrained 
by the young man’s bad reputation. It was said 
that he had an old sweetheart, one of these binding 
attachments which one always believes to be broken 
off and yet which always hold. 

Besides, for a shorter or longer period, he loved 
every woman who came within reach of his lips. 

Then he settled down and refused, even once, to 
see the one with whom he had lived for so long. 
A friend took care of this woman’s pension and as- 
sured her an income. Jacques paid, but he did not 
even wish to hear of her, pretending even to ignore 
her name. She wrote him letters which he never 
opened. Every week he would recognize the clumsy 
writing of the abandoned woman, and every week 
a greater anger surged within him against her, and 
he would quickly tear the envelope and the paper, 
without opening it, without reading one single line, 
knowing in advance the reproaches and complaints 
which it contained. 

As but little faith existed in his constancy, the 
test was prolonged through the winter, and Berthe’s 
hand was not granted him until the spring. The 
wedding took place in Paris at the beginning of 
May. 

The young couple had decided not to take the 
conventional wedding trip; but after a little dance 
for the younger cousins, which would not be pro- 
longed after eleven o’clock in order that this day of 
lengthy ceremonies might not be too tiresome, the 


THE NIGHT OF THE WEDDING 


137 


young pair were to spend the first night in the pa- 
rental home and then, on the following morning, to 
leave for the beach so dear to their hearts where 
they had known and loved each other. 

Night had come, and the dance was going on in 
the large parlour. The two had retired in a little 
Japanese boudoir, hung with bright silks and dimly 
lighted by the soft rays of a large coloured lantern 
hanging fropi the ceiling like a gigantic egg. 
Through the open window the fresh air from out- 
side passed over their faces like a caress, for the 
night was warm and calm, full of the odour of 
spring. 

Tliey were saying nothing to each other; they 
were holding each other’s hands, and from time to 
time squeezing them with all their might. She sat 
there with a dreamy look, feeling a little lost by this 
great change in her life, but smiling, moved, ready 
to cry, oft^n, also, ready almost to faint from joy, 
believing the whole world to be changed by what 
had just happened to her, nervous she knew not of 
what, and feeling her whole body and soul filled by 
an indefinable and delicious lassitude. 

He was looking at her obstinately with a fixed 
smile. He wished to speak, but found nothing to 
say, and so sat there, putting all his ardour in pres- 
sures of the hand. From time to time he would 
murmur : Berthe ! ” And each time she would 

raise her eyes to him with a look of tenderness; 
they would look at each other for a second, and 
then her look, pierced and fascinated by his, would 
fall. 


138 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

They found no thoughts to exchange. They had 
been left alone, but occasionally some of the dancers 
would cast a rapid glance at them, as though they 
were the discreet and trusting witnesses of a mys- 
tery. 

A door opened and a servant entered, holding on 
a tray a letter which a messenger had just brought. 
Jacques, trembling, took this paper, overwhelmed 
by a vague and sudden fear, the mysterious terror 
of swift misfortune. 

He looked for a long time at the envelope, the 
writing on which he did not know, not daring to 
open it, not wishing to read it, with a wild desire 
to put it in his pocket and say to himself : “ I’ll 

leave that till to-morrow, when I’m far away ! ” 
But on one corner two words stared at him : Very 
urgent” filling him with terror. Saying : “ Please 
excuse me, my dear,” he tore open the envelope. 
He read the paper, grew frightfully pale, looked 
over it again, and, slowly, he seemed to spell it out 
word for word. 

When he raised his head his whole face was up- 
set. He stammered : “ My dear, it . . . it’s 

from my best friend, who has had a very great mis- 
fortune. He has need of me immediately . . . 

for a matter of life or death. Will you excuse me 
if I leave you for half an hour ? I’ll be right back.” 

Trembling and dazed, she stammered: “Go 
ahead, my dear ! ” not yet having been his wife long 
enough to dare to question him, to demand to know. 
He disappeared. She remained alone, listening to 
the dancing in the neighbouring parlour. 


THE NIGHT OF THE WEDDING 


39 


He had seized up the first hat and coat he came 
to and jumped down the stairs three at a time. As 
he was emerging into the street he stopped under 
the gas-jet of the vestibule and re-read the letter. 
This is what it said : 

“ Sir : A girl by the name of Ravet, an old sweetheart 
of yours, it seems, has just given birth to a child whom she 
clairns to be yours. The mother is about to die and is 
begging for you. I take the liberty to write and ask you 
if you can grant this last request to a woman who seems 
to be very unhappy and worthy of pity. 

“ Yours truly, 

“ Dr. Bonnard.” 

When he reached the sick-room the woman was 
already on the point of death. He did not recog- 
nize her at first. The doctor and two nurses were 
taking care of her. And everywhere on the floor 
were pails full of ice and rags covered with blood. 
Water flooded the carpet; two candles were burn- 
ing on a bureau ; behind the bed, in a little wicker 
crib, the child was crying, and each time it would 
moan the mother, in torture, would try to move, 
shivering under her ice bandages. 

She was wounded to death by his birth. Her 
life was flowing from her ; and, notwithstanding the 
ice and the care, the merciless hemorrhage contin- 
ued, hastening her last hour. 

She recognized Jacques, and wished to raise her 
arms. They were so weak that she could not, but 
down her pallid cheeks coursed tears. 

He dropped to his knees beside the bed, seized 
one of her hands, and kissed it frantically ; then, lit- 
tle by little, he drew nearer to the thin face, which 


140 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


started at the contact. One of the nurses was light- 
ing them with a candle, and the doctor was wa^tch- 
ing them from the back of the room. 

Then she said, in a voice which sounded as 
though it came from a distance : '' I am going to 
die, dear ; promise to stay to the end. Oh ! don’t 
leave me now. Don’t leave me at the last minute ! ” 

He kissed her face and her hair, and, weeping, 
he murmured: “Never fear, I will stay.” 

It was several minutes before she could speak 
again, she was so weak. She continued : “ The lit- 
tle one is yours. I swear it before God and on my 
soul. I swear it as I am dying ! I have never loved 
another man but you — promise to take care of the 
child.” 

He was trying to take this poor pain-racked body 
in his arms. Maddened by remorse and sorrow, he 
stammered : “ I swear to you that I will bring him 
up and love him. He shall never leave me.” 

Then she tried to kiss Jacques. Powerless to lift 
her head, she held out her white lips in an appeal 
for a kiss. He approached his lips to pluck this 
poor caress. 

As soon as she felt a little calmer, she murmured : 
“ Bring him here, and let me see if you love him.” 

He went and got the child. He placed him gently 
on the bed between them, and the little one 
stopped crying. She murmured : “ Don’t move 

any more ! ” And he was quiet. And he stayed 
there, holding in his burning hand this other one 
shaken by the shivers of death, just as, a while ago, 
he had been holding a hand trembling with love. 


THE NIGHT OF THE WEDDING 1 41 

From time to time he would cast a quick glance at 
the clock, which marked midnight, then one o’clock, 
then two. 

The physician had returned ; the two nurses, after 
noiselessly moving around through the room for a 
while, were now sleeping on chairs. The child was 
sleeping, and the mother, with eyes shut, appeared 
also to be resting. 

Suddenly, just as pale daylight was creeping in 
behind the curtains, she stretched out her arms with 
such a quick and violent motion that she almost 
threw her baby on the floor. A kind of rattle was 
heard in her throat, then she lay on her back mo- 
tionless, dead. 

The nurses sprang forward and declared : “ All 
is over ! ” 

He looked once more at this woman whom he 
had so loved, then at the clock, which pointed to 
four, and he ran away, forgetting his overcoat, in 
evening dress, with the child in his arms. 

After she had been left alone, the young wife 
had waited, calmly enough at first, in the little Jap- 
anese boudoir. Then, as she did not see him re- 
turn, she went back to the parlour with an indiffer- 
ent and calm appearance, but terribly anxious. 
When her mother saw her alone she asked : “ Where 
is your husband ? ” She answered : “ In his room ; 
he is coming right back.” 

After an hour, when everybody had questioned 
her, she told about the letter, Jacques’s upset ap- 
pearance, and her fears of an accident. 

Still they waited. The guests left ; only the 


142 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


nearest relatives remained. At midnight the bride 
was put to bed, all shaken by tears. Her mother 
and two aunts, sitting around the bed, were listen- 
ing to her cry, silent and in despair. . . . The 

father had gone to the commissary of police to see 
if he could obtain some news. 

At five o’clock a slight noise was heard in the 
hall; a door was softly opened and closed; then 
suddenly a little cry like the mewing of a cat was 
heard throughout the silent house. 

All the women started forward, and Berthe 
sprang ahead of them all, pushing her way past 
her aunts, wrapped in a bathrobe. 

Jacques stood in the middle of the room, pale and 
panting, holding an infant in his arms. The four 
women looked at him, astonished; but Berthe, who 
had suddenly become courageous, rushed forward 
with anguish in her heart, exclaiming : “ What is 

it ? What’s the matter ? ” 

He looked around wildly and answered shortly: 

I — I have a child, and the mother has just died. 
. . .” And in his clumsy hands he held out the 

howling infant. 

Without saying a word, Berthe seized the child, 
kissed it, and hugged it to her; then she raised her 
tear-filled eyes to him, asking : “ Did you say that 
the mother was dead ? ” He answered : ‘‘Yes — in 
my arms ... I had broken with her since 
summer ... I knew nothing. The physician 
sent for me.” 

Then Berthe murmured : “ Well, we will bring 
up the little one.” 


THE REVENGE 


T he little Baroness de la Grangerie was slum- 
bering on her sofa when the little Marquise 
de Rennedou entered quickly, with an ex- 
cited appearance, her waist a little rumpled, her hat 
slightly awry, and she fell into a chair, exclaiming: 
^‘Ooof! That’s over!” 

Her friend, who knew her to be ordinarily calm 
and gentle, sat up in surprise, and asked : “ What ? 
What have you done?” 

The Marquise, who seemed to be unable to stay 
in one place, stood up and began to walk around 
the room, then she threw herself down at the foot 
of the sofa where her friend was resting and took 
her hands, saying: '‘Listen, dear; swear to me 
never to repeat what I shall tell you ! ” 

“ I swear.” 

“ On all that you hold holy ! ” 

“ On all that I hold holy.” 

“ Well, I have just taken vengeance on Simon.” 
The other exclaimed : “ Oh ! you certainly did 

well.” 

“ Didn’t I, though ? Why, for the last six months 
he has been even more unbearable than formerly. 
When I married him I knew that he was homely, 


144 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


but I thought that he was kind. How mistaken I 
was ! He undoubtedly thought that I loved him for 
himself, with his big stomach and his red nose, for 
he began to coo like a turtle-dove. As you can im- 
agine, it made me laugh; from that time I called 
him ‘ Pigeon.’ 

“ Really, men have funny ideas about themselves. 
When he understood that the only sentiment which 
I had for him was friendliness, he became suspi- 
cious, he began to say mean things about me, to 
call me a coquette, a sly 'person, I know not what. 
And then things became worse after . . . 
after . . . it’s very hard to explain what I 
mean. . . . Well, he was very much in love 
with me . . . very much so . . . and he 
proved it to me often . . . too often. Oh ! my 

dear, what torture to be . . . loved by a 

grotesque man. . . . No, really, I couldn’t any 
longer ... it was like having a tooth pulled 
out every evening . . . even worse; just im- 

agine some one of your acquaintance who is very 
ugly, very ridiculous, very repulsive, with an enor- 
mous stomach . . . that’s the worst part of it 

. . . and big, fat, hairy legs. You see what I 

mean, don’t you? Well, just imagine that that per- 
son is your husband . . . and that . . . 

you understand. Oh ! It’s odious ! Perfectly 
odious! . . . Positively, it — it made me ill — 

it actually gave me nausea. Really, this couldn’t 
go on any longer. There ought to be some law to 
protect women in such a case. 

“ It’s not because I have dreamed of poetic love ; 


THE REVENGE 


145 


no, I never did that. It is no longer to be found. 
All the men nowadays are grooms or bankers ; they 
only love either horses or money, and if they love 
women it’s the same way that they love horses; it 
is to show them off in their homes, just as they pa- 
rade a beautiful pair of roans. Nothing more. 
Life is such to-day that sentiment can have no part 
in it. 

Let us, therefore, live like practical and indiffer- 
ent women. Interrelations are no longer anything 
but regular meetings where each time the same 
things are said. For whom could we have a little 
affection and tenderness? The men, our men, are 
usually nothing more than very correct puppets who 
completely lack all intelligence and delicacy. If we 
look for a little wit, as one looks for water in the 
desert, we draw to us all the artists, and then we 
are surrounded by unbearable posers or ill-bred 
bohemians. Like Diogenes, I am looking for a 
man in the whole of Parisian society; but I am 
already quite sure that I will not find him, and it 
will not be long before I blow out my lantern. To 
return to my husband ; as it thoroughly upset me to 
see him enter my room in his bare legs, I employed 
every means, every possible means, to keep him 
away and to — to disgust him with me. At first he 
was furious; then he became jealous; he imagined 
that I was deceiving him. In the beginning he was 
satisfied with watching me. He would watch every 
motion of any man who entered the house ; then the 
persecution began. He followed me everywhere. 
He employed the most abominable means to sur- 


146 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


prise me. After that he allowed me to speak with 
no one. At a ball he would stand behind me, push- 
ing forward his thick dog’s face as soon as I would 
say a word. He would follow me to the buffet, for- 
bidding me to dance with this one or with that one, 
or else he would take me away in the middle of a 
cotillon, making me appear stupid and ridiculous. 
Then I ceased to go into society. 

“ In intimate life it became even worse. Just 
imagine, one day he called me . . I don’t 
dare say the word, my dear ! ... In the even- 
ing he would say to me: ‘Well, who was your 
lover to-day ? ’ I would cry, and he would be de- 
lighted. 

“ It became even worse than that. Last week 
he took me to dinner on the Champs Elysees. Fate 
willed that Baubignac should be sitting at the next 
table. Then Simon began to crush my feet under 
the table, and to grunt at me : ‘You had an en- 
gagement with him; just wait till I get hold of 
you ! ’ Then, my dear, you can never imagine what 
he did : he gently drew my hat-pin out and stuck it 
into my arm. I uttered a shriek. Everybody 
crowded around us. Then he pretended to be sorry. 
You understand. Then I decided that I would 
avenge myself immediately. What would you have 
done in my place ? ” 

“ Why, I should have taken the same position ! ” 

“ Well, it’s done.” 

“ How?” 

“ What ? Don’t you understand ? ” 

“ But, my dear. . . .” 


THE REVENGE 


147 


“ Well, yes . . 7^ 

“ Yes, what ? ” 

“ Just imagine his expression. Can’t you see him 
with his heavy face, his red nose, and his side 
whiskers, which hang like a dog’s ears ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

And then, think, he is as jealous as a cat! ” 
Yes.” 

“ Well,” I said to myself : “ I’m going to get 

revenge for myself and for Marie, for I fully ex- 
pected to tell you, but only you. Just imagine his 
expression, and then think that he ... he 
. . . he is . . 

‘‘What ... you ... ?” 

“ But, my dear, for goodness’ sake, swear that 
you never will tell any one ! But isn’t it funny ? 
. . . Why, from that time he seems to be en- 
tirely different I And I can’t help laughing . . . 

all by myself . . . just think of him! ” 

The Baroness was looking at her friend, and she 
began to laugh wildly, hysterically, with her hands 
on her dress, her breath coming short, and leaning 
forward as if she would fall on her face. 

Then the little Marquise also burst out in laugh- 
ter, and she kept repeating : “ Think . . . 

think of it . . . isn’t it funny? . . . Can’t 
you . . . can’t you see him? . . . Think 
of his whiskers! . . . His nose! . . . Isn’t 

it funny? . . . But . . . promise . . . 

promise never to tell ! ” 

They were almost choking, unable to speak, cry- 
ing real tears in this delirium of gayety. The 


148 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


Baroness was the first to calm down, and, still out 
of breath, she asked: “ Oh! Tell me how it hap- 
pened . . . tell me . . . it’s so . . . 

so funny! . . 

But the other one was unable to speak; she kept 
stammering : “ When I had taken my decision 

. . . I said to myself . . . ‘ Quickly . . . 

quickly ... it must happen right away ! ’ 
. . . And I ... I did it to-day . . .” 

“To-day! . . 

“Yes . . . just a while ago . . . and I 

told Simon to meet me here so that we could have 

some fun. . . . He is coming . . . shortly! 

He is coming! . . Just . . . just . . . 

think of it when you look at him ! ” 

The Baroness was panting as if she had been 
running a race. She continued : “ Oh ! tell me 

how you managed it . . . tell me ! . . 

“ It’s very simple. ... I said to myself : 

‘He is jealous of Baubignac; well, Baubignac it 
shall be. He is as thick as a stone wall, but very 
honest. He would be incapable of telling anybody.’ 
Then I went to his house after lunch.” 

“ You went to see him? On what pretext? ” 

“ A subscription ... for the orphans . . .” 

“ Tell me . . . quick . . . tell me about 
it . . .” 

“ He was so surprised at seeing me that he was 
unable to speak. And then he gave me two louis 
for my subscription; and then, as I was rising to 
leave, he asked about my husband ; then I pretended 
to be unable to contain myself any longer, and I 


THE REVENGE 


149 


told him everything that was on my mind. I even 
made him out worse than he is ! . . . Then 

Baubignac grew sorry for me, he tried to find some 
way of helping me . . . and I began to cry 

. . . as if my heart were broken ... he 

tried to comfort me . . . and when I did not 

grow any calmer, he kissed me. ... I kept re- 
peating : ‘ Oh ! my poor friend ! . . . My poor 

friend ! ’ He kept repeating : ' My poor friend ! 

. . . my poor friend ! ’ . . . And all the 

time he kept kissing me ; and . . . and . . . 

there ! 

“ After that I grew angry and heaped reproaches 
on him. Oh ! I treated him as though he were the 
last of the last . . . but I felt a mad desire to 

laugh. I kept thinking of Simon and his whiskers ! 
Just imagine . . . ! Just imagine! I simply 

couldn’t keep my face straight as I was coming 
here. Just think of it I . . . It’s done I . . . 

Whatever may happen now, it’s done ! And he was 
so afraid of that very thing! There may be wars, 
earthquakes, epidemics, we may all die . . . 

it’s done! Nothing can help that! Think of it 
when you look at him ! ” 

The Baroness, who was choking, asked : ** Do 

you intend to see Baubignac again ? ” 

‘‘No, indeed! . . . I’ve had enough of him 

. . . he would be no better than my husband ! 

And both of them began to laugh madly again. 
The tinkle of a bell interrupted their laughter. 

The Marquise murmured : “ It’s he . . . 

look at him ! ” 


150 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

The door opened. And a fat, red-faced man, 
with thick lips and hanging whiskers, appeared. 
He was rolling angry eyes. 

The two young women looked at him for a min- 
ute, and then they threw themselves down upon the 
sofa, shaken by a fit of violent laughter. 

And he kept repeating angrily : “ What’s the 

matter? Are you mad? . . . Are you mad? 

. . . Are you mad ? ” 


THE WOODCOCKS 


M y dear, you ask me why I do not return to 
Paris; you are surprised and almost angry. 
The reason which I will give you will 
probably shock you ; does a hunter go to Paris dur- 
ing the season of the woodcocks? 

Certainly, I like this city life which extends from 
the chamber to the sidewalk, but I prefer the free, 
rough autumn life of the hunter. 

In Paris it seems to me as if I were never out 
of doors; for ^le streets are really nothing more 
than great apartments without ceilings. You are 
not outside when you are between two walls, your 
feet on the stone or wooden pavement, your view 
barred everywhere by buildings, without any hori- 
zon of pastures, plains, or forests. Thousands of 
neighbours elbow and push about, bow and speak; 
and the fact that I get water on my umbrella when 
it is raining is not sufficient to give me the impres- 
sion, the sensation of space. 

Here I perceive clearly and delightfully the dif- 
ference between inside and outside . . . but 

it is not of that that I wish to speak to you. . . . 

The woodcocks are here. 

I must tell you that I live in a great country 


152 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


house in Normandy, in a valley near a small river, 
and that I am hunting almost every day. 

On other days I read ; even things which men in 
Paris have no time to know, serious, deep, curious 
things written by a genius, a stranger who has 
spent his whole life studying the same question, and 
who has observed facts relative to the influence of 
the function of our organs on our intelligence. 

But I want to tell you of the woodcocks. My 
two friends, the D’Orgemol brothers, and myself are 
remaining here throughout the hunting season, 
waiting for the first cold weather. As soon as there 
is a frost, we leave for their farm at Cannetot, near 
Fecamp, because there is there a delightful little 
forest where dwell all the passing woodcocks. 

You know the D’Orgemols, these two giants of 
early Normandy, these two men of the ancient, con- 
quering race which invaded France, took and kept 
England, settled along every coast of the old world, 
built cities everywhere, swept over Sicily and cre- 
ated an admirable art there, defeated all the kings, 
pillaged all the proud cities, overthrew and out- 
witted popes, and especially left children in every 
bed on the earth. The D’Orgemols are two typical 
Normans; everything about them flavours of Nor- 
mandy, the voice, the accent, the wit, the blond 
hair, and the eyes, colour of the sea. 

When we are together we speak in dialect, we 
live, think, act like Normans, we become more Nor- 
man than our farmers themselves. 

Well, we have been expecting the woodcocks for 
the last two weeks. .Every morning the elder 


THE WOODCOCKS 


153 


brother, Simon, would say to me : “ Well, the wind 
is turning to the east; there is going to be a frost; 
they’ll be here in a couple of days.” 

The younger brother, Gaspard, more precise, 
would wait until the frost was there before announ- 
cing it. 

Last Thursday he came into my room at day- 
break, and cried : It’s here ! The whole ground 

is white. Two more days like this and we’ll leave 
for Cannetot.” 

And, in fact, two days later we were leaving for 
Cannetot. You certainly would have laughed if you 
could have seen us. We were travelling in a 
strange hunting wagon which my father had for- 
merly constructed. “ Construct ” is the only word 
which I can use when speaking of this monumental 
traveller, or, rather, of this rolling earthquake. It 
contains everything: boxes for provisions, boxes 
for weapons, for trunks, for everything that is 
necessary. Everything is under cover except the 
men, who have to sit on benches as high as a third- 
story window, and supported by four gigantic 
wheels. One gets up there as best one can, mak- 
ing use of the feet, hands, and even the teeth, for 
no step gives access to this edifice. 

The two D’Orgemols and myself scramble up on 
this mountain, dressed like Laplanders. We are 
wearing sheepskins, thick woollen stockings over 
our trousers, and gaiters over our stockings ; be- 
sides this, we wear black fur hats and white fur 
gloves. When we are settled, Jean, my servant, 
throws up our three dogs, Pif, Paf, and Moustache. 


154 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


Pif belongs to Simon, Paf to Gaspard, and Mous- 
tache to me. They look like three hairy little croco- 
diles. They are long, close to the earth, with 
crooked legs and very hairy. One can hardly see 
their black eyes under the hair, and their white 
fangs under their beards. We never shut them up 
in the rolling kennels of the wagon. We make our 
dogs lie at our feet, in order to keep ourselves 
warm. We leave, and get abominably shaken up. 
The weather was freezing. We were pleased. We 
arrived at about five. The farmer, Maitre Picot, 
was waiting before the door. He is a strapping fel- 
low, not tall, but short and stocky, as vigorous as a 
bulldog, as sly as a fox, always smiling, always 
happy, and making money out of everything. 

The woodcock season is a great time for him. 
The farmhouse is a big rambling building, with a 
yard full of apple trees, and surrounded by four 
hedges. We go into the kitchen, where a big fire is 
burning in honour of our arrival. 

The table is set near the high fireplace, where 
everything is cooking; in front of the bright flame 
is a plump chicken, the gravy from which is drip- 
ping into an earthen vessel. 

The farmer’s wife comes up and treats us. She 
is a big, silent, very polite woman, always busy with 
her housekeeping, her head full of business and fig- 
ures, the price of grain, of poultry, sheep, cattle. 
She is an orderly and severe woman, known 
throughout the neighbourhood. 

In the back of the kitchen is the big table where 
shortly the servants of every description, truck 


THE WOODCOCKS 


155 


drivers, labourers, farm girls, shepherds, will sit 
down ; and all these people will eat in silence under 
the active eye of the mistress, and watch us dine 
with Maitre Picot, who will tell us jokes. Then, 
when the employees shall have eaten, Madame Picot 
will take her frugal meal alone, on a corner of the 
table, while she watches the maid. On ordinary 
days she eats with the others. 

The D’Orgemols and myself, all three of us, sleep 
in a large, bare whitewashed room which contains 
only our three beds, three chairs, and three wash- 
basins. Gaspard always wakes first, and he rouses 
the rest of us. In a half hour everybody is ready, 
and we leave with Maitre Picot, who hunts with us. 

Maitre Picot prefers me to his masters. Why? 
Doubtless because I am not his master. The two 
of us reach the woods from the right-hand side, 
while the two brothers attack it from the left. Si- 
mon takes care of the dogs, which he drags along, 
all three on one leash. For we are not hunting 
woodcock, but rabbits. We are convinced that one 
should not hunt woodcock, but find it. You run 
across it and kill it, that’s all. If you try to look 
for it you will never find it. It is really a beautiful 
and curious thing to hear, in the fresh morning air, 
the sharp explosion of the guns, and then Gaspard’s 
stentoriap voice fill the air and cry : ‘‘ Wood- 

cock ! ” 

I am sly. When I have killed a woodcock, I 
cry : Rabbit ! ” And my triumph is double when 

the game is taken from the bags at noon. 

Well, Maitre Picot and I are in the little forest. 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


156 

where the leaves are falling with a soft and continu- 
ous rustle, a sad, dry noise; they are dead. It is 
cold, a cold which stings the eyes, the nose and the 
ears, and which has powdered the grass and the 
brown ground with a white powder. But under the 
long sheepskins we feel warm. The sun looks gay 
in the blue sky; it is scarcely warm at all, but it is 
gay. How delightful it is to hunt through the 
woods on a fresh winter’s morning ! 

A dog barks sharply. It is Pif. I know his voice. 
Then nothing more. I hear a cry, then another; 
then Paf in turn makes himself heard. What can 
Moustache be doing ? Ah ! there he is, clucking like 
a strangled chicken. They have found a rabbit. 
They go away, draw nearer, go off again, then 
return; we follow their unexpected tracks, running 
along the little paths, our minds alert and our fin- 
gers on the trigger. 

They go out toward the fields, we follow them. 
Suddenly a gray shadow crosses the path. I throw 
my gun to my shoulder and shoot. The light smoke 
clears off in the blue air, and I see a bundle of 
white hair kicking about on the grass. Then I 
bawl at the top of my lungs : ‘‘ Rabbit ! rabbit ! ” 

Then I show it to the three dogs, to the three hairy 
crocodiles, who congratulate me by wagging their 
tails ; then they go to look for another. , 

Maitre Picot had joined me. Moustache began to 
bark. The farmer said : “ It might be a hare ; let 
us go to the edge of the field.” 

But just as I was leaving the woods I saw, stand- 
ing right near me, Maitre Picot’s dumb shepherd, 


THE WOODCOCKS 


157 


Gargan; he was wrapped in an immense yellow 
cloak, his head was covered by a woollen bonnet, and 
he was knitting a stocking. According to the cus- 
tom, I said : “ Good morning, pastor.” He raised 
his hand to greet me, although he had not heard 
my voice ; but he had seen the movement of my lips. 
I had known this shepherd for fifteen years. For 
fifteen years I had seen him every autumn standing 
in the middle or at the edge of a field, his body mo- 
tionless, and his hands always knitting. His herd 
followed him, and seemed to obey his glances. 

Maitre Picot pressed my arm, and said : Did 

you know that the shepherd killed his wife ? ” 

I was dumfounded, and asked : “ What ? Gar- 

gan ? The deaf and dumb one ? ” 

Yes, last winter. He was tried at Rouen. I’ll 
tell you about it.” He dragged me behind the 
bushes, for the dumb man could gather the words 
from his master’s mouth as though he could hear 
them. He was the only man that he could under- 
stand; but in front of him he was no longer deaf, 
and the master, on the other hand, could guess like 
a sorcerer every intention of the dumb man’s pan- 
tomime, every motion of his fingers, every wrinkle 
of his face and glance of his eyes. 

Here is this simple story, a sombre tragedy such 
as sometimes happens in the country: 

Gargan was the son of a marl-digger, one of 
these men who go down into the marl pits in order 
to extract this soft, white, crumbling rock, which is 
then scattered over the fields. He was deaf and 
dumb at birth, and had been brought up to herd 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


158 


beasts. Then, when Picot’s father took him in, he 
became the shepherd of the farm. He was an ex- 
cellent shepherd, devoted and honest, and he knew 
how to heal broken members, although nobody had 
ever taught him anything about that. When Picot 
took the farm Gargan was thirty and looked forty. 
He was tall and thin, and wore the beard of a 
patriarch. 

At about this time a poor old woman, by the 
name of Martel, died, leaving a fifteen-year-old girl, 
who was called “ Brandy ” on account of her in- 
ordinate love for this drink. 

Picot took in this girl and employed her to do 
little things, feeding her free, in exchange for her 
work. She would sleep in the carriage house, in 
the stable, on the straw, or on the dungheap ; every- 
where and anywhere, with any one, perhaps with 
the truck driver or with the hodman. But soon 
she began to be seen regularly in the company of 
the deaf man. How did these two wretches unite? 
How did they understand each other ? Had he ever 
known a woman before this one — he who had never 
spoken to anybody? Was it she who first went to 
his rolling hut and seduced him, an Eve of the 
roadside? No one knows. It is only known that 
one day they began to live together as husband and 
wife. Nobody was surprised. And Picot even 
found this quite natural. 

But the priest heard of this union without con- 
secration, and grew angry. He reproached Madame 
Picot, worried her conscience, threatened her with 
mysterious punishments. What was to be done ? It 


THE WOODCOCKS 


159 


was quite simple. They would be married in the 
church and by the Mayor. Neither of them had 
anything ; he did not own a whole pair of pants, and 
she did not have a skirt that hung together. There- 
fore nothing could stand in the way of satisfying 
religion and the law. They were united in an 
hour, before Mayor and priest, and everybody 
thought that everything was for the best. 

But soon it became a regular game throughout 
the countryside to deceive this poor Gargan. Be- 
fore they had been married nobody ever thought of 
going with Brandy, and now everybody wanted her, 
just as a joke. It only took a glass of brandy to 
persuade the woman to deceive her husband. The 
affair had gained such notoriety throughout the 
neighbourhood that gentlemen came from Goder- 
ville to watch the game. For a pint Brandy would 
give an exhibition with anybody, in a ditch, be- 
hind a wall, while at the same time one could see 
Gargan standing motionless a hundred feet away, 
knitting his stockings and followed by his bleating 
herd. And people would laugh themselves sick 
over the matter in every cafe of the neighbourhood ; 
it was the great topic of conversation. People 
would greet each other by crying : “ Have you 

treated Brandy?’’ Everybody knew what that 
meant. 

The shepherd seemed to see nothing. But one 
day a fellow from Sassedille, by the name of Poirot, 
called Gargan’s wife aside and showed her a full 
bottle behind a mill. She understood and laugh- 
ingly came to him. They had hardly begun their 


i60 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


criminal business when the shepherd fell upon them 
as though he had dropped from the clouds. Poirot 
escaped as best he could, while the dumb man, with 
animal-like cries, kept squeezing his wife’s throat. 

The people who had been working in the fields 
hastened to the scene. It was too late ; her tongue 
was black, her eyes were popping out of her head, 
and blood was flowing from her nose. She was 
dead. 

The murderer was tried at Rouen. As he was 
dumb people acted as his interpreters. The details 
of the affair greatly amused the audience. But the 
farmer was possessed by only one idea : to have 
his shepherd acquitted ; and he went about the mat- 
ter in a cunning manner. 

He first told the whole of the deaf man’s history, 
and that of his marriage ; then he came to the 
crime and questioned the murderer himself. The 
whole audience was silent. 

Picot asked slowly : “ Did you know that she 

was deceiving you ? ” and at the same time he mim- 
icked the question with his eyes. 

The other answered : “ No,” with his head. 

“ Were you sleeping in the mill when you sur- 
prised her ? ” And he made the gesture of a man 
who sees a disgusting sight. 

Then the farmer imitated the motions of the 
Mayor who marries and the priest who unites in 
the name of God, and asked his servant if he had 
killed his wife because she was bound to him be- 
fore all men and before Heaven. 

The shepherd said : “ Yes,” with his head. 


the woodcocks l6l 

Picot said : “ Now, show us how it happened.” 

Then the deaf man went over the whole scene. 
He showed how he had been sleeping in the mill, 
that he had awakened when he felt something mov- 
ing in the straw, that he had gently looked and had 
seen the thing. 

He was standing between two gendarmes, and 
suddenly he imitated the obscene motions of the 
couple before him. 

A loud burst of laughter filled the courtroom, 
then stopped short; for the shepherd, with haggard 
eyes, was moving his jaws and his great beard as if 
he were biting something, his arms stretched out, 
his head shoved forward, repeating the terrible ac- 
tion of the murderer strangling some creature. 

And he was howling frightfully, so maddened by 
anger that he thought that he was holding her 
again, and the gendarmes were obliged to force 
him down on a bench in order to calm him. 

A thrill of anguish ran through the audience. 
Then Maitre Picot placed his hand on his servant’s 
shoulder and said quietly : '' This man has honour.” 

The shepherd was acquitted. 

For my part, my dear, I was greatly moved by 
the last part of this adventure, which I have told 
you in quite vulgar terms, in order to change noth- 
ing of the farmer’s story. Suddenly I heard a shot 
coming from the woods, and Gaspard’s rumbling 
voice came to me like a cannon : “ Woodcock ! ” 

And that is how I spend my time watching for 
the woodcocks, while you go to the Bois to observe 
the first winter gowns. 


ON THE RAILWAY 


T he sun was about to disappear behind the 
great chain of mountains of which the Puy 
de Dome is the giant, and the shadow of the 
peaks stretched into the Valley Royat. 

A few persons were walking through the park 
around the bandstand ; others were sitting in 
groups, notwithstanding the coolness of the even- 
ing. In one of these groups the conversation was 
animated, for the question was one which greatly 
bothered Mesdames de Sarcagnes, De Vaulacelles, 
and De Bridoie. Vacations were to begin in a few 
days, and they had to send for their sons, who were 
being educated by the Jesuits and the Dominicans. 

Now, these ladies had no desire themselves to 
undertake a journey to fetch their descendants, and 
they knew of no one to whom they could intrust 
this delicate mission. It was the end of July. Paris 
was empty. They were searching in vain for a 
name which offered them sufficient guaranty. 

Their embarrassment grew when they heard of 
a great breach of morality which had happened on 
a railway train a few days previously. And the 
ladies were positive that all the gay girls of the 


ON THE RAILWAY 


63 


whole capital spent their lives on the expresses be- 
tween Auvergne and the Lyons Station. According 
to M. de Bridoie, of the Gil Bias, all these women 
had gone to Vichy, Mont Dore, and Bourboule. In 
order to get there they must have gone on the rail- 
way, and they would again undoubtedly come back 
by the same means of transportation; they must 
probably be going back and forth every day. It 
was, therefore, a continual coming and going of 
naughty people on that confounded line. The ladies 
were most distressed that entrance to the stations 
should not be forbidden to suspicious women. 

Now, Roger de Sarcagnes was fifteen, Gontran 
de Vaulacelles thirteen, and Roland de Bridoie 
eleven. What was to be done ? They could not ex- 
pose their dear children to the contact of such crea- 
tures. What might they not hear ? What might 
they not learn if they were to spend a whole day 
or night in a compartment which contained one or 
two of these persons, with a couple of their com- 
panions ? 

The situation seemed to be absolutely hopeless, 
when Madame de Martinsec happened to pass. She 
stopped to greet her friends, who told her their 
troubles. 

‘‘ Why, the matter is quite simple,” she ex- 
claimed. I will lend you the Abbe. I can very 
well get along without him for forty-eight hours. 
Rodolphe’s education will not be compromised by 
that. He can go for your children and bring them 
back again.” 

Thus it was agreed upon that Abbe Lecuir, a 


164 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


well-educated young priest, Rodolphe de Martin- 
sec’s tutor, should go to Paris the following week 
in order to fetch the three boys. 

The Abbe left on Friday, and on Sunday morn- 
ing he was at the Lyons Station, ready to take the 
eight o’clock train with his three boys. This was 
a new express, which had been organized for only a 
few days by request of all the Auvergne bathers. 

He was walking along, followed by his brood, 
and looking for an empty compartment, or for one 
occupied by respectable-looking people, for his mind 
was haunted by all the minute warnings of Mes- 
dames de Sarcagnes, De Vaulacelles, and De 
Bridoie. 

Suddenly he noticed an old gentleman and a 
white-haired old lady, who were talking to another 
lady already settled in the compartment. The old 
gentleman was an officer of the Legion of Honour, 
and these people looked quite respectable. “ This is 
what I want,” thought the Abbe. He told the three 
boys to go in, and followed them. 

The old lady was saying : “ Be sure to take care, 
my child.” 

The young one answered : “ Oh ! yes, mamma, 

fear nothing.” 

“ Call the doctor as soon as you feel sick.” 

“ Yes, yes, mamma.” 

“ Good-by, my child.” 

“ Good-by, mamma.” 

After lengthy farewells a conductor closed the 
doors, and the train started. 

They were alone. The delighted Abbe was con- 


ON THE RAILWAY 


165 

gratulating himself on his skill, and he began to 
talk to the young people who had been confided to 
his care. It had been decided on the day of his de- 
parture that Madame de Martinsec would allow 
him to give lessons to these three boys during the 
vacations, and he wished to test the intelligence and 
character of his new scholars. 

The oldest one, Roger de Sarcagnes, was one of 
these tall schoolboys who have grown beyond their 
age, thin and pale, and whose pronunciation did not 
yet seem to be quite settled. He spoke slowly and 
simply. 

Gontran de Vaulacelles, on the contrary, was 
short and stocky, and he was tricky, sly, bad, and 
mischievous. He was continually making fun of 
everybody, spoke like a grown person, and said 
things with double meanings, which worried his 
parents. 

The youngest lad, Roland de Bridoie, seemed to 
show no special aptitude for anything. He was a 
harmless little creature, who would some day re- 
semble his father. 

The Abbe had informed them that they would be 
under his orders during these two summer months ; 
and he had given them a little lecture on their du- 
ties toward him, the policy he should pursue, and 
the method he should employ with them. He was 
an honest-hearted and simple priest, with a mind 
full of systems. 

His speech was interrupted by a deep sigh from 
his neighbour. He turned and looked at her. She 
was in her corner, her eyes fixed on the floor, her 


i66 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


cheeks a little pale. The Abbe returned to his pu- 
pils. 

The train was rolling along at full speed, through 
fields and forests, passing under and over bridges, 
shaking up the little company of travellers shut up 
in the compartments. 

Gontran de Vaulacelles was now questioning 
Abbe Lecuir about Royat as to what amusement 
could be found in the country. Was there a river? 
How was the fishing? Should he have a horse, as 
he had the year before? 

The young woman suddenly uttered a sharp cry, 
an “ Ah ! ” of suffering, quickly repressed. 

The priest anxiously asked her : “ Are you feel- 
ing ill, Madame ? ” 

She answered : “ No, no. Monsieur TAbbe, it’s 

nothing at all, just a slight pain. I have not been 
well for the last few days, and the motion of the 
train tires me.” 

Her face had indeed become quite livid. He in- 
sisted : “ If I can do anything at all for you, Ma- 
dame ” 

“ Oh ! no, nothing at all, thank you. Monsieur 
I’Abbe.” 

The priest again took up his conversation with 
his pupils, preparing them for the instructions they 
were to receive under his direction. 

Hours rolled by. The train stopped from time to 
time, and then started again. The young woman 
now appeared to be asleep and she was no longer 
moving, huddled up in her corner. Although the 
day was half over, she had as yet eaten nothing. 


ON THE RAILWAY 167 

The Abbe thought : “ This person must be quite 

ill/’ 

Only two hours remained before they were due 
to arrive at Clermont-Ferrand, when the woman 
suddenly began to moan. She had almost fallen 
from her seat, and, leaning against her hands, her 
eyes haggard, her features contorted, she kept re- 
peating : “ Oh ! my God ! Oh ! my God ! ” 

The Abbe rushed to her aid, exclaiming : “ Ma- 
dame ! Madame ! Madame, what is the matter ? ” 

She stammered : “ I — I — I think that — that I 
am going to give birth ! ” And she immediately 
began to shriek in a frightful manner. She let out 
a maddening cry which seemed to rasp her throat, 
shrill and terrible, which told of the agony of her 
soul and the torture of her body. 

The poor priest stood bewildered before her, not 
knowing what to do, to say, to attempt, and he kept 
murmuring : “ Gracious ! if I only knew — gracious, 
if I only knew ! ” He had blushed to the tips of his 
ears, and his three pupils looked in a dazed manner 
at this prostrate, shrieking woman. 

Suddenly she twisted, raised her arms over her 
head, and seemed to be shaken by a strange convul- 
sion. 

The Abbe thought that she was about to die — die 
beside him, deprived of aid and assistance, by his 
fault. Then he said in a resolute voice : 

“ I will help you, Madame. I do not know — but 
I will help you as best I can. I owe my assistance 
to every suffering creature.” 

Then he turned around to the three youngsters 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


l68 

and cried : “ You boys are to stick your heads out 
of the window, and if one of you turns around he 
shall copy a thousand lines of Virgil.” 

He lowered the three windows and stuck the 
three heads through them and pulled the shades 
down ; then he repeated : “ If you make one single 
motion you shall be deprived of your excursions 
throughout all the holidays. And do not forget that 
I never forgive.” 

Rolling up the sleeves of his cassock, he returned. 

She was still moaning, and at times shrieking. 
The Abbe, with a pained expression, kept assisting 
her, exhorting her and comforting her, and he con- 
tinually kept one eye on the three youngsters, who 
were casting quick and secret glances toward the 
mysterious business which was being carried on by 
their new tutor. 

“ Monsieur de Vaulacelles, you will copy the verb 
‘ to disobey ’ twenty times ! ” he cried. 

“ Monsieur de Bridoie, you shall have no dessert 
for a month ! ” 

Suddenly the young woman stopped her com- 
plaining, and almost immediately a strange and 
faint cry, like that of a cat, caused the three school- 
boys to turn around with a start, convinced that 
they had heard a new-born puppy. 

The Abbe was holding in his hands a tiny naked 
infant. He was looking around with a bewildered 
expression; he seemed pleased and sad, ready to 
laugh and cry; the facial expression varied so sud- 
denly that one might have thought him to be a 
lunatic. 


ON THE RAILWAY 169 

He announced to his pupils, as if it were a great 
piece of news : “ It’s a boy.” 

Then immediately he continued : Monsieur de 

Sarcagnes, pass me the bottle of water which is in 
the net. Very well. Open it. Good. Pour just a 
few drops in my hand, just a few — that’s enough! ” 

And he poured this water over the bare brow 
of the little creature which he was holding in his 
arms ; then he said : “ I baptize you in the name of 
the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. 
Amen.” 

The train was rolling into the station of Cler- 
mont. Madame de Bridoie’s face appeared at the 
door. Then the Abbe completely lost his head and 
presented to her the frail human creature, murmur- 
ing: “ Madame has just had a little accident durr 
ing the journey.” 

He looked as if he had picked this child up out 
of the gutter. Perspiration was standing out on his 
brow, and his cassock was all rumpled up. He kept 
repeating : “ They saw nothing — nothing at all — 

I guarantee it. All three of them were looking 
through the window. I guarantee it — they saw 
nothing at all.” 

And he left the compartment with four boys, in- 
stead of the three which he had been sent to fetch ; 
while Mesdames de Bridoie, De Vaulacelles, and De 
Sarcagnes, livid, exchanged bewildered looks, with- 
out finding a single thing to say. 

That evening the three families were dining to- 
gether in order to celebrate the return of the 
schoolboys. The conversation lagged ; fathers. 


170 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


mothers, and even the children themselves looked 
preoccupied. 

Suddenly the youngest one, Roland de Bridoie, 
asked : 

“ Say, mamma, where did the Abbe find the little 
boy?” 

The mother merely answered : Eat your din- 

ner, and don’t trouble us with your questions.” 

He was silent for a short while, and then con- 
tinued : “ There was nobody but this lady, who had 
a stomach-ache. The Abbe must be a prestidigita- 
tor like Robert Houdin, who brings a bowl full of 
fishes from under a handkerchief.” 

Keep quiet. It was God who sent it.” 

“ But where did God put it ? I didn’t see any- 
thing. Did he come in through the window, tell 
me?” 

Madame de Bridoie impatiently answered : “ Oh, 
be still. The stork brought him, as he does all 
other children. You know it very well.” 

“ But there wasn’t any stork on the train ! ” 

Then Gontran de Vaulacelles, who had been lis- 
tening, smiled slyly and said: “Yes, there was a 
stork. But Monsieur TAbbe was the only one who 
saw it.” 


MADAME BAPTISTE 


T he first thing I did was to look at the clock 
as I entered the waiting-room of the station 
at Loubain, and I found that I had to wait 
two hours and ten minutes for the Paris express. 

I had walked twenty miles and felt suddenly tired. 
Not seeing anything on the station walls to amuse 
me, I went outside and stood there racking my 
brains to think of something to do. The street was 
a kind of boulevard, planted with acacias, and on 
either side a row of houses of varying shape and 
different styles of architecture, houses such as one 
only sees in a small town, and ascended a slight 
hill, at the extreme end of which there were some 
trees, as though it ended in a park. 

From time to time a cat crossed the street and 
jumped over the gutters, carefully. A cur sniffed 
at every tree and hunted for scraps from the kitch- 
ens, but I did not see a single human being, and I 
felt listless and disheartened. What could I do 
with myself? I was already thinking of the inevi- 
table and interminable visit to the small cafe at the 
railway station, where I should have to sit over a 
glass of undrinkable beer and the illegible news- 
paper, when I saw a funeral procession coming out 


172 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


of a side street into the one in which I was, and the 
sight of the hearse was a relief to me. It would, 
at any rate, give me something to do for ten min- 
utes. Suddenly, however, my curiosity was aroused. 
The hearse was followed by eight gentlemen, one 
of whom was weeping, while the others were chat- 
ting together, but there was no priest, and I thought 
to myself : 

This is a non- religious funeral ; ’’ and then I 
reflected that a town like Loubain must contain at 
least a hundred freethinkers, who would have made 
a point of making a manifestation. What could it 
be, then? The rapid pace of the procession clearly 
proved that the body was to be buried without cere- 
mony, and, consequently, without the intervention 
of the church. 

My idle curiosity framed the most complicated 
surmises, and as the hearse passed me, a strange 
idea struck me, which was to follow it, with the 
eight gentlemen. That would take up my time for 
an hour, at least, and I, accordingly, walked with 
the others, with a sad look on my face, and, on see- 
ing this, the two last turned round in surprise, and 
then spoke to each other in a low voice. 

No doubt, they were asking each other whether 
I belonged to the town, and then they consulted the 
two in front of them, who stared at me in turn. 
This close scrutiny annoyed me, and to put an end 
to it, I went up to them, and, after bowing, I 
said : 

“ I beg your pardon, gentlemen, for interrupting 
your conversation, but, seeing a civil funeral, I 


MADAME BAPTISTE 


173 


have followed it, although I did not know the de- 
ceased gentleman whom you are accompanying.” 

'' It was a woman,” one of them said. 

I was much surprised at hearing this, and asked : 

“ But it is a civil funeral, is it not ? ” 

The other gentleman, who evidently wished to 
tell me all about it, then said: “ Yes and no. The 
clergy have refused to allow us the use of the 
church.” 

On hearing this, I uttered a prolonged “ A — ^h ! ” 
of astonishment. I could not understand it at all, 
but my obliging neighbour continued : 

“ It is rather a long story. This young woman 
committed suicide, and that is the reason why she 
cannot be buried with any religious ceremony. The 
gentleman who is walking first, and who is crying, 
is her husband.” 

I replied, with some hesitation: 

“ You surprise and interest me very much. Mon- 
sieur. Shall I be indiscreet if I ask you to tell me 
the facts of the case? If I am troubling you, for- 
get that I have said anything about the matter.” 

The gentleman took my arm familiarly. 

“ Not at all, not at all. Let us linger a little be- 
hind the others, and I will tell it you, although it 
is a very sad story. We have plenty of time before 
getting to the cemetery, the trees of which you see 
up yonder, for it is a stiff pull up this hill.” 

And he began : 

“ This young woman, Madame Paul Hamot, was 
the daughter of a wealthy merchant in the neigh- 
bourhood, Monsieur Fontanelle. When she was a 


174 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


mere child of eleven, she had a terrible adventure; 
a footman attacked her and she nearly died. A ter- 
rible criminal case was the result, and the man was 
sentenced to penal servitude for life. 

“ The little girl grew up, stigmatized by dis- 
grace, isolated, without any companions, and 
grown-up people would scarcely kiss her, for they 
thought that they would soil their lips if they 
touched her forehead, and she became a sort of 
monster, a phenomenon to all the town. People 
said to each other in a whisper : ‘ You know, little 
Fontanelle,’ and everybody turned away in the 
streets when she passed. Her parents could not 
-even get a nurse to take her out for a walk, as the 
other servants held aloof from her, as if contact 
with her would poison everybody who came near 
her. 

“ It was pitiable to see the poor child go and 
play every afternoon. She remained quite by her- 
self, standing by her maid, and looking at the other 
children amusing themselves. Sometimes, yielding 
to an irresistible desire to mix with the other chil- 
dren, she advanced timidly, with nervous gestures, 
and mingled with a group, with furtive steps, as if 
conscious of her own disgrace. And, immediately, 
the mothers, aunts, and nurses would come running 
from every seat, and take, the children intrusted to 
their care by the hand and drag them brutally 
away. 

“ Little Fontanelle remained isolated, wretched, 
without understanding what it meant, and then she 
began to cry, nearly heartbroken with grief, and 


MADAME BAPTISTE 


175 


then she used to run and hide her head in her 
nurse’s lap, sobbing. 

As she grew up, it was worse still. They kept 
the girls from her, as if she were stricken with the 
plague. Remember that she had nothing to learn,, 
nothing; that she no longer had the right to the 
symbolical wreath of orange-flowers; that almost 
before she could read she had penetrated that re- 
doubtable mystery which mothers scarcely allow 
their daughters to guess at, trembling as they en- 
lighten them on the night of their marriage. 

“ When she went through the streets, always ac- 
companied by her governess, as if her parents, 
feared some fresh, terrible adventure, with her eyes, 
cast down under the load of that mysterious dis- 
grace which she felt was always weighing upon her^ 
the other girls, who were not nearly so innocent as. 
people thought, whispered and giggled as they 
looked at her knowingly, and immediately turned 
their heads absently, if she happened to look at 
them. People scarcely greeted her ; only a few men 
bowed to her, and the mothers pretended not to see 
her, while some young blackguards called her Ma- 
dame Baptiste, after the name of the footman who 
had attacked her. 

“ Nobody" knew the secret torture of her mind,, 
for she hardly ever spoke, and never laughed, and 
her parents themselves appeared uncomfortable in 
her presence, as if they bore her a constant grudge 
for some irreparable fault. 

“ An honest man would not willingly give his 
hand to a liberated convict, would he, even if that 


176 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


convict were his own son ? And Monsieur and Ma- 
dame Fontanelle looked on their daughter as they 
would have done on a son who had just been re- 
leased from the hulks. She was pretty and pale, 
tall, slender, distinguished-looking, and she would 
have pleased me very much, Monsieur, but for that 
unfortunate affair. 

“ Well, when a new sub-prefect was appointed 
here, eighteen months ago, he brought his private 
secretary with him. He was a queer sort of fellow, 
who had lived in the Latin Quarter, it appears. He 
saw Mademoiselle Fontanelle, and fell in love with 
her, and when told of what occurred, he merely 
said: ‘Bah! That is just a guarantee for the fu- 
ture, and I would rather it should have happened 
before I married her than afterward. I shall live 
tranquilly with that woman.’ 

“ He paid his addresses to her, asked for her 
hand, and married her, and then, not being deficient 
in assurance, he paid wedding-calls, as if nothing 
had happened. Some people returned them, others 
did not ; but, at last, the affair began to be forgotten, 
and she took her proper place in society. 

“ She adored her husband as if he had been a 
god; for, you must remember, he had restored her 
to honour and to social life, had braved public opin- 
ion, faced insults, and, in a word, performed such a 
courageous act as few men would undertake, 
and she felt the most exalted and tender love for 
him. 

“ When she became enceinte, and it was known, 
the most particular people and the greatest sticklers 


MADAME BAPTISTE 


177 


Opened their doors to her, as if she had been defi- 
nitely purified by maternity. 

“ It is strange, but so it is, and thus everything 
was going on as well as possible until the other day, 
which was the feast of the patron saint of our town. 
The Prefect, surrounded by his staff and the au- 
thorities, presided at the musical competition, and 
when he had finished his speech the distribution of 
medals began, which Paul Hamot, his private secre- 
tary, handed to those who were entitled to them. 

“ As you know, there are always jealousies and 
rivalries, which make people forget all propriety. 
All the ladies of the town were there on the plat- 
form, and, in his turn, the bandmaster from the vil- 
lage of Mourmillon came up. This band was only 
to receive a second-class medal, for one cannot give 
first-class medals to everybody, can one ? But when 
the private secretary handed him his badge, the 
man threw it in his face and exclaimed : 

‘‘ ‘ You may keep your medal for Baptiste. You 
owe him a first-class one, also, just as you do me.’ 

“ There were a number of people there who be- 
gan to laugh. The common herd are neither chari- 
table nor refined, and every eye was turned toward 
that poor lady. Have you ever seen a woman going 
mad. Monsieur? Well, we were present at the 
sight ! She got up, and fell back on her chair three 
times in succession, as if she wished to make her 
escape, but saw that she could not make her way 
through the crowd, and then another voice in the 
crowd exclaimed : 

“ ' Oh ! Oh ! Madame Baptiste ! ’ 


178 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ And a great uproar, partly of laughter and 
partly of indignation, arose. The word was re- 
peated over and over again ; people stood on tip- 
toe to see the unhappy woman’s face; husbands 
lifted their wives up in their arms, so that they 
might see her, and people asked : 

“ ‘ Which is she ? The one in blue ? ’ 

“ The boys crowed like cocks, and laughter was 
heard all over the place. 

“ She did not move now on her state chair, but 
sat just as if she had been put there for the crowd 
to look at. She could not move, nor conceal her- 
self, nor hide her face. Her eyelids blinked quickly, 
as if a vivid light were shining on them, and she 
breathed heavily like a horse that is going up a 
steep hill, so that it almost broke one’s heart to see 
her. Meanwhile, however. Monsieur Hamot had 
seized the ruffian by the throat, and they were roll- 
ing on the ground together, amid a scene of inde- 
scribable confusion, and the ceremony was inter- 
rupted. 

“ An hour later, as the Hamots were returning 
home, the young woman, who had not uttered a 
word since the insult, but who was trembling as if 
all her nerves had been set in motion by springs, 
suddenly sprang over the parapet of the bridge, 
and threw herself into the river, before her husband 
could prevent her. The water is very deep under 
the arches, and it was two hours before her body 
was recovered. Of course, she was dead.” 

The narrator stopped, and then added : 

“ It was, perhaps, the best thing she could do 


MADAME BAPTISTE 


179 


under the circumstances. There are some things 
which cannot be wiped out, and now you understand 
why the clergy refused to have her taken into 
church. Ah ! If it had been a religious funeral the 
whole town would have been present, but you can 
understand that her suicide added to the other af- 
fair and made families abstain from attending her 
funeral; and then, it is not an easy matter here 
to attend a funeral which is performed without re- 
ligious rites.” 

We passed through the cemetery gates, and I 
waited, much moved by what I had heard, until the 
coffin had been lowered into the grave, before I 
went up to the poor fellow who was sobbing vio- 
lently, to press his hand warmly. He looked at me 
in surprise through his tears, and then said : 

“ Thank you. Monsieur.” And I was not sorry 
that I had followed the funeral. 


A WARNING NOTE 


I HAVE received the following letter. Thinking 
that it may be profitable to many readers, I lost 
no time in communicating to them its contents : 

'‘Paris, November 15th, 1886. 
“Monsieur: You often, either in the form of 
short stories or chronicles, deal with subjects re- 
lating to what I may describe as ‘ current morals.' 
I am going to submit to you some reflections which 
ought, it seems to me, to furnish you with the ma- 
terials for one of your tales. 

“ I am not married ; I am a bachelor, and, as it 
seems to me, a rather simple man. But I fancy 
that many men, the greater number of men, are 
simple in the way that I am. Acting always, or 
nearly always, in good faith myself, I am unable to 
understand the inherent astuteness of my neigh- 
bours, and I look straight before me as I proceed, 
without being sufficiently on my guard against hid- 
den motives, secret actions. 

“We are nearly all accustomed as a rule to take 
things as they appear, and to take people at their 
own valuation ; and very few possess that perception 
which enables certain men to divine the real and 


A WARNING NOTE l8l 

hidden nature of others. From this peculiar and 
conventional attitude in regard to life we have come 
to this, that we pass like moles through the midst 
of events, and that we never believe in what really 
is, but in what appears to be, that as soon as we 
are shown the fact behind the veil we declare that 
it is not true to life, and that everything which dis- 
pleases our idealistic morality is classed by us as 
an exception, without taking into account that these 
exceptions all brought together constitute nearly 
the sum total of cases. Another result of this is 
that credulous good people like me are deceived by 
everybody, and especially by women, who have a 
talent in this direction. 

“ I have started far afield in order to come to the 
particular fact which interests me. I have a sweet- 
heart, a married woman. Like many others, I 
imagined, of course, that I had chanced on an ex- 
ception, on an unhappy little woman who was de- 
ceiving her husband for the first time. I had paid 
attentions to her, or, rather, I had looked on myself 
as having paid attention to her for a long time, as 
having overcome her scruples by dint of kindness 
and love, and as having triumphed by the sheer 
force of perseverance. In fact, I had made use of a 
thousand precautions, a thousand devices, and a 
thousand subtle dallyings in order to succeed in 
getting the better of her. 

'' Now, here is what happened last week : Her 
husband being absent for some days, she suggested 
that we should both dine together, and that I 
should wait on myself so as to avoid the presence of 


i 82 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


a man-servant. She had a fixed idea which had 
haunted her for the last four or five months: She 
wanted to become intoxicated, without being afraid 
of consequences, without having to go back home, 
or to speak to her chambermaid and to walk before 
witnesses. She had often taken a little too much 
without going farther, and she had enjoyed it. So 
she promised herself that she would become intoxi- 
cated for once, only once, but thoroughly so. She 
pretended at her own house that she was going to 
spend twenty-four hours with some friends near 
Paris, and she reached my abode just about dinner- 
hour. 

A woman naturally ought not to get drunk on 
anything but champagne frappe. She drank a large 
glass of it fasting, and before the oysters were 
served she was talking incoherently. 

‘‘We had a cold dinner spread on a table behind 
me. All I had to do was to reach out my arm and 
take the dishes or plates, and I did the honours 
indifferently well as I listened to her chattering. 

“ She kept taking swallows, haunted by her fixed 
idea. She began by making me the recipient of 
meaningless and interminable confidences about her 
sensations as a young girl. She went on and on, 
her eyes wandering and sparkling, her tongue 
loosed, as her frivolous ideas poured forth just as 
tape is rolled off a ticker. 

“ From time to time she asked me : 

“ ‘ Am I tipsy ? ’ 

“ ‘ No, not yet.' 

“ And she went on drinking. 


A WARNING NOTE 


183 


‘‘ She was so before long, not so as to lose her 
senses, but tipsy enough to tell the truth, as it 
seemed to me. 

“ Her confidences as to her emotions while a 
young girl were succeeded by more intimate confi- 
dences as to her relations with her husband. She 
made them without restraint till I was embarrassed, 
.saying continually : " I can tell everything to you. 

To whom could I tell everything if it were not to 
you ? ’ So I was made acquainted with all the 
habits, all the defects, all the fads and the most se- 
cret inclinations of her husband. 

“ And by way of claiming my approval she asked : 
" Isn’t he a duffer ? Do you think he can get ahead 
of me, eh? And the first time I saw you, I said to 
myself, “ Let me see ! I like him, and I’ll take him 
for my lover.” It was then you began paying me 
attention.’ 

“ I must have presented an odd appearance, for 
she burst out laughing, exclaiming : ‘ Oh, you big 
simpleton, you did go about it cautiously ; but when 
men pay us attention, you old stupid, it is because 
we permit it. A man must be a fool not to under- 
stand, by a mere glance at us, that we mean “ Yes.” 
Ah ! I believe I waited for you, booby ! Oh ! yes, 
flowers, verses, compliments, more verses, and 
nothing else ! I was very near letting you go, my 
fine fellow, you were so long in making up your 
mind. And only to think that half the men in the 
world are like you, while the other half, ha! ha! 
ha! ’ 

This laugh of hers sent a cold shiver down my 


184 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


back. I stammered : ‘ The other half — what about 
the other half?' 

She still went on drinking, her eyes sparkling 
from the wine, her mind impelled by the imperious 
necessity to tell the truth which sometimes takes 
possession of drunkards. 

“ She replied : ‘ Ah ! the other half makes quick 
work of it — too quick; but, all the same, they are 
right. There are days when we don't agree; but 
there are days, too, when all goes right, in spite of 
everything. . . . My dear, if you only knew 

how funny it is — the way the two kinds of men act ! 
You see, the timid ones, such as you are, never 
could imagine what sort the others are and what 
they do, immediately, as soon as they find them- 
selves alone with us. They are regular dare-dev- 
ils ! They get many a slap in the face from us, no 
doubt of that, but what does that matter? They 
know we’re the sort that kiss and don’t tell ! They 
know us well, they do ! ’ 

I stared at her with the eyes of an inquisitor, 
and with a mad desire to make her speak, to learn 
everything from her. How often had I put this 
question to myself : ‘ How do the other men be- 

have toward the women who belong to us ? ’ I was 
fully conscious of the fact that, from the way I saw 
two men talking to the same woman publicly in a 
drawing-room, these two men, if they found them- 
selves, one after the other, all alone with her, would 
conduct themselves quite differently, although they 
were both equally well acquainted with her. We 
can guess at the first glance of the eye that certain 


A WARNING NOTE 


185 


beings, naturally endowed with the power of seduc- 
tion, or, perhaps, more lively, more daring than we 
are, attain after an hour’s chat with a woman who 
pleases them a degree of intimacy that we would 
not hope for in a year. Well, these men, these se- 
ducers, these bold adventurers, when the occasion 
presents itself to them, take liberties which we timid 
ones would consider odious outrages, but which 
women, perhaps, look on merely as pardonable ef- 
frontery, as indecent homage to their irresistible 
grace. 

“ So I asked her : ‘ There are some men, are 

there not, who are very improper ? ’ 

“ She threw herself back in her chair in order to 
laugh more at her ease, but with a nerveless, un- 
healthy laugh, one of those laughs which ends in 
an attack of nerves; then, a little more calmly, she 
replied : ‘ Ha ! ha ! my dear, improper ? That is 

to say, that they dare everything at once, all, you 
understand, and many other things, too.’ 

“ I felt disgusted as if she had just revealed to 
me a monstrous thing. 

“ ‘ And you permit this, you women ? ’ 

‘ No, we don’t permit it ; we slap them in the 
face„ but, for all that, they amuse us ! And then 
with them one is always afraid, one is never easy. 
You must keep watching them the whole time ; it is 
like fighting a duel. You have to keep staring into 
their eyes to see what they are thinking of or where 
they are putting their hands. They are black- 
guards, if you like, but they love us better than you 
do.’ 


i86 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


** A singular and unexpected sensation stole over 
me. Although a bachelor and determined to re- 
main a bachelor, I suddenly felt in my breast the 
spirit of a husband in the face of this impudent con- 
fidence. I felt myself the friend, the ally, the 
brother of all these confiding men who are, if not 
robbed, at least defrauded by all these pirates. 

“ It is this strange emotion. Monsieur, that I am 
obeying at this moment, in writing to you, and in 
begging of you to address a warning note to the 
great army of easy-going husbands. 

However, I had still some lingering doubts. 
This woman was drunk and must be lying. 

“ I went on to inquire : ‘ How is it that you 

never relate these adventures to any one, you 
women ? ' 

“ She gazed at me with profound pity, and with 
such an air of sincerity that for the moment I 
thought she had been sobered by astonishment. 

“ We My dear fellow, you are very foolish. 

Why do we never talk to you about these things? 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! Does your valet tell you about his 
tips, his odd sous? Well, these are our little tips. 
The husband ought not to complain when we don’t 
go any farther. But how stupid you are ! . . . 

And then what harm does it do as long as we don’t 
yield?’ 

I again asked her, with much embarrassment : 

“ ‘ So then you have often been kissed by men ? ’ 

She answered, with an air of sovereign con- 
tempt for the man who could have any doubt on the 
subject : 


A WARNING NOTE 


187 


Why, every woman has been often embraced. 
. . . Try it on with any of them, no matter 

whom, in order to see for yourself, you great goose ! 

Look here! embrace Madame de X ! She is 

quite young and very virtuous. Embrace some one,, 
my friend — embrace and touch; you will see, ha! 
ha ! ha ! ’ 

♦ * * * Jj: 5}: 5|« 

All of a sudden she flung her glass straight at 
the chandelier. The champagne fell down in a 
shower, extinguishing three wax-candles, stained 
the hangings, and deluged the table, while the 
broken glass was scattered about the dining-room. 
Then she made an effort to seize the bottle to do 
the same with it, but I prevented her. After that,, 
she began to scream in a shrill voice — the nervous 
attack had come on, as I had foreseen. . . . 

4 : 

“ Some days later I had almost forgotten this 
avowal of a tipsy woman when I chanced to find 
myself at an evening party with this Madame de 
X whom my sweetheart had advised me to em- 

brace. As I lived in the same neighbourhood as 
she did, I offered to drive her to her door, for she 
was alone this evening. She accepted my offer. 

As soon as we were in the carriage, I said to 
myself : ' Come ! I mqst try it on ! ' But I had not 
the courage. I did not know how to make a start, 
how to begin the attack. 


i88 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


Then, suddenly, the desperate courage of cow- 
ards came to my aid. I said to her : ‘ How pretty 
you looked this evening ! ’ 

She replied with a laugh : ‘ So, then, this 

evening was an exception, as this is the first time 
you noticed it.’ 

“ I did not know what rejoinder to make. Cer- 
tainly my gallantry was not making progress. 
After a little reflection, however, I managed to say : 

“ ‘ No, but I never dared to tell you.’ 

** She was astonished. 

“‘Why?’ 

“ ‘ Because it is — it is a little difficult.’ 

“ ‘ Difficult to tell a woman that she’s pretty ? 
Why, where did you come from? You should al- 
ways tell us so, even when you only half think it 
. . . because it always gives us pleasure to hear 

9 

“ I felt myself suddenly stirred by a whimsical 
audacity, and, catching her round the waist, I 
sought to kiss her. 

“ However, I must have been very awkward 
while trying not to be too rough, for she kept turn- 
ing her head aside so as to avoid contact with my 
face, saying: 

“ ‘ Oh, no — this is rather too much — too much. 
. . . You are too hasty ! Take care of my hair. 

You cannot kiss a woman who has her hair dressed 
like mine ! . . .’ 

“ I resumed my former position in the carriage, 
disconcerted, unnerved by this repulse. But the 
carriage drew up before her gate; and as she 


A WARNING NOTE 189 

stepped out of it, she held out her hand to me, say- 
ing in her most gracious tones : 

Thanks, dear Monsieur, for having seen me 
home . . . and don’t forget my advice ! ’ 

‘‘ I saw her three days later. She had forgotten 
everything. 

“ And I, Monsieur, I am incessantly thinking of 
the other sort of men — the sort of men to whom a 
lady’s coiffure is no obstacle, and who know how 
to take advantage of every opportunity.” 


JOSEPH 


T he little Baroness Andree de la Fraisieres and 
little Comtesse Noemi de Gardens were both 
of them drunk, quite drunk. They had dined 
together in the large room facing the sea. The soft 
breeze of a summer evening blew in at the open 
window, soft and fresh at the same time, a breeze 
that smelled of the sea. The two young women, 
extended in their lounging chairs, sipped their 
Chartreuse from time to time, as they smoked 
cigarettes. They were talking most confidentially, 
telling each other details which nothing but this 
charming intoxication could have permitted thei'* 
pretty lips to utter. 

Their husbands had returned to Paris that after- 
noon, and had left them alone on that deserted lit- 
tle sea beach, which they had selected so as to avoid 
those gallant marauders that are constantly met 
with in fashionable watering places. As they were 
absent five days in the week, they objected to coun- 
try excursions, luncheons on the grass, swimming 
lessons and those sudden familiarities which spring 
up in the idle life of watering places. Dieppe, 
Etretat, Trouville seemed to them places to be 
avoided, and they had rented a house which had 


JOSEPH 


I9I 

been built and abandoned by an eccentric individual 
in the valley of Roqueville, near Fecamp, and there 
they buried their wives for the whole summer. 

The ladies were frankly drunk. Not knowing 
how to amuse themselves, the little Baroness had 
suggested a good dinner and champagne. To be- 
gin with, they had found great amusement in cook- 
ing this dinner themselves, and then they had eaten 
it merrily, and had drunk freely, in order to allay 
the thirst which the heat of the fire had excited. 
Now they were chatting and talking nonsense, 
while gently gargling their throats with Chartreuse. 
In, fact, they did not in the least know any longer 
what they were saying. 

The Countess, with her feet in the air on the back 
of a chair, was further gone than her friend. 

“ To complete an evening like this,’’ she said, 
‘‘ we ought to have a lover apiece. If I had fore- 
seen this some time ago, I would have sent for a 
couple from Paris, and I would have let you have 
one. . . “ I can always find one,” the other 

replied ; “ I could have one this very evening, if 
I wished.” “ What nonsense ! At Roqueville, my 
dear? It would have to be some peasant, then.” 
“ No, not altogether.” “ Well, tell me all about it.” 

What do you want me to tell you ? ” “ About 

your lover ? ” My dear, I do not want to live 
without being loved, for I should fancy I was dead 
if I were not loved.” “ So should I.” “ Is not 

that so?” “Yes. Men cannot understand it! 
And especially our husbands!” “No, not in the 
least. How can you expect it to be different ? The 


192 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


love which we want is made up of being spoiled, 
of gallantries and of pretty words and actions. 
That is the nourishment of our hearts; it is indis- 
pensable to our life, indispensable, indispensable 
. . “ Indispensable.” 

“ I must feel that somebody is thinking of me, 
always, everywhere. When I go to sleep and when 
I wake up, I must know that somebody loves me 
somewhere, that I am being dreamed of, longed for. 
Without that, I should- be wretched, wretched ! Oh ! 
yes, unhappy enough to do nothing but cry.” I 
am just the same.” 

“ You must remember that anything else is im- 
possible. When a husband has been nice for six 
months, or a year, or two years, he necessarily be- 
comes a brute, yes, a regular brute. . . . He 

does not put himself out for anything, but shows 
himself just as he is, and makes a scene on the 
slightest provocation, or without any provocation 
whatever. One cannot love a man with whom one 
lives constantly.” “ That is quite true.” “ Isn't 
it? . . . What was I saying? I cannot the least 

remember?” ‘'You were saying that all husbands 
are brutes!” “Yes, brutes ... all of them.” 
“ That is quite true.” “ And then ? ” “ What do 

you mean?” “What was I saying just then?” 
“ I don’t know because you did not say it I ” “ But 
I had something to tell you.” “ Oh ! yes, that is 
true ; well ? . . .” “ Oh ! I have got it. . . 

“ Well, I am listening.” “ I was telling you that 
I can find lovers everywhere.” “ How do you man- 
age it?” “Like this. Now follow me carefully. 


JOSEPH 


193 


When I get to some fresh place I take notes and 
make my choice.” “You make your choice?” 
“ Yes, of course I do. First of all I take notes. I 
ask questions. Above all, a man must be discreet, 
rich, and generous ; is not that so ? ” “ It is quite 
true ! ” “ And then he must please me, as a man.” 
“ Of course.” “ Then I bait the hook for him.” 
“You bait the hook?” “Yes, just as one does to 
catch fish. Have you never fished with a hook and 
line?” “No, never.” “That is a mistake; it is 
very amusing, and besides that, it is instructive. 
Well, then, I bait the hook. . . .” “ How do 

you do it ? ” “ How stupid you are ! Does not one 
catch the man one wants to catch, without their 
having any choice? And they really think that 
they choose . . . the fools . . . but it is 
we who choose . . . always. . . . Just 

think, when one is not ugly nor stupid, as is the 
case with us, all men aspire to us, all . . . 

without exception. We look them over from morn- 
ing till night, and when we have selected one, we 
fish for him. . . .” “ But that does not tell me 

how you do it ? ” “ How I do it ? . . . Why, I 

do nothing; I allow myself to be looked at, that is 
all.” “You allow yourself to be looked at? 

. . .” “ Why, yes ; that is quite enough. When 

one has allowed one’s self to be looked at several 
times following, a man immediately thinks you the 
most lovely, most seductive of women, and then he 
begins to make love to you. I give him to under- 
stand that he is not so bad-looking, without saying 
anything to him, of course, and he falls in love, like 


194 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


a log. I have him fast, and it lasts a longer or a 
shorter time, according to his qualities.” 

“ And do you catch all whom you please, like 
that?” “Nearly all.” “Oh! So there are some 
who resist?” “Sometimes.” “Why?” “Oh! 

Why? A man is a Joseph for three reasons. Be- 
cause he is in love with another woman, because 
he is excessively timid, or because he is . . . 

how shall I say it? . . . incapable of carrying 

out the conquest of a woman to the end. . . .” 

Oh ! my dear ! . . . Do you really believe ? 

. . .” “ I am sure of it . . . there are 
many of this latter class, many, many . . . 

many more than people think. Oh! they look just 
like everybody else . . . they strut like pea- 
cocks. . . . No, when I said peacocks . . . 

I made a mistake, for they could not display them- 
selves.” “ Oh ! my dear. . . .” “ As to the 
timid, they are sometimes unspeakably stupid. 
They are the sort of men who ought not to un- 
dress themselves, even when they are going to bed 
alone, when there is a looking-glass in their room. 
With them, one must be energetic, make use of 
looks, and squeeze their hands, and even that is 
useless sometimes. They never know how or where 
to begin. When one faints in their presence 
. . . as a last resource . . . they try to 
bring you round . . . and if you do not re- 
cover your senses immediately . . . they go 

and get assistance. 

“Those whom I prefer myself are other wom- 
en’s lovers. I carry them by assault ... at 


JOSEPH 


195 


. . . at . . . at the point of the bayonet, 

my dear ! ” ‘‘ That is all very well, but when there 
are no men, as here, for instance? ” “ I find them.” 
“You find them? But where?” “Everywhere. 
But that reminds me of my story. 

“ Now, listen. Just two years ago, my husband 
made me pass the summer on his estate at Bou- 
grolles. There was nothing there . . . you 

know what I mean, nothing, nothing, nothing 
whatever ! In the neighbouring country houses 
there were a few disgusting boors, who cared for 
nothing but shooting, and who lived in country 
houses which had not even a bathroom, men who 
perspire, go to bed covered with perspiration, and 
whom it would be impossible to improve, because 
their principles of life are dirty. Now just guess 
what I did ! ” “I cannot possibly.” “ Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
I had just been reading a number of George Sand’s 
novels which exalt the man of the people, novels in 
which the workingmen are sublime and all the men 
of the world are criminals. In addition to this, I 
had seen Rtiy Bias the winter before, and it had 
impressed me very much. Well, one of our farm- 
ers had a son, a good-looking young fellow of two 
and twenty who had studied for a priest, but had 
left the seminary in disgust. Well, I took him as 
footman ! ” “ Oh ! . . . And then ? . . . 
What afterward ? ” 

“ Then . . . then, my dear, I treated him 

very haughtily, and showed him a good deal of my 
person. I did not lure this rustic on, I simply en- 
flamed him! . . .” “Oh! Andree!” “Yes, 


196 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


and I enjoyed the fun very much. People say that 
servants count for nothing! Well, he did not count 
for much. I used to ring to give him his orders 
every morning while my maid was dressing me, and 
every evening as well, while she was undressing 
me.” “ Oh ! Andree I ” 

“ My dear, he caught fire like a thatched roof. 
Then, at meals, I used continually to talk about 
cleanliness, about taking care of one’s person, about 
baths and shower baths, until at the end of a fort- 
night he bathed in the river morning and night, 
and used to perfume himself enough to poison the 
whole chateau. I was even obliged to forbid him 
to use perfumes, telling him, with furious looks, 
that men ought never to use anything but eau de 
Cologne.” 

“ Oh ! Andree 1 ” 

“ Then, I took it into my head to get together a 
library suitable to the country. I sent for a few 
hundred moral novels, which I lent to all our peas- 
ants and all my servants. A few books ... a 
few . . . poetical books . . . such as ex- 
cite the mind of . . . schoolboys and school- 
girls . . . had found their way into my collec- 
tion . . . and I gave them to my footman. 

That taught him life ... a funny sort of life.” 

Oh I Andree I ” 

“ Then I grew familiar with him, and used to 
say thou to him. I had given him the name of 
Joseph. And, my dear, he was in a state . . . 

in a terrible state. ... He got as thin as 

. . . as a barn-door cock . . . and rolled 


JOSEPH 


197 


his eyes like an idiot. I was extremely amused; it 
was one of the most delightful summers I ever 
spent. . . “And then? . . “Then? 

. . . Oh ! yes. . . . Well, one day when my 

husband was away from home, I told him to order 
the basket phaeton and to drive me into the woods. 
It was warm, very warm. . . . There ! ” “ Oh ! 

Andree, do tell me all about it. . . . It is so 
amusing. . . .” “ Here, have a glass of 
Chartreuse, otherwise I shall empty the decanter 
myself. Well, I felt ill, on the road.^’ “How?’^ 
“ You are very stupid. I told him that I was not 
feeling well, and that he must lay me on the grass, 
and when I was lying there I told him I was chok- 
ing, and that he must unlace me. And then, when 
I was unlaced, I fainted.” “ Did you go right off ? ” 
“ Oh! dear, no, not the least.” “ Well?” 

“ Well, I was obliged to remain unconscious for 
nearly an hour, as he could find no means of bring- 
ing me round. But I was very patient, and did not 
open my eyes.” 

“ Oh ! Andree ! . . . And what did you say 

to him ? ” “ I ? Nothing at all ! How was I to 

know anything, as I was unconscious? I thanked 
him, and told him to help me into the carriage, and 
he drove me back to the chateau ; but he nearly up- 
set us in turning into the gate I ” “ Oh I Andree ! 
And is that all? . . .” “That is all. . . .” 

“ You did not faint more than that once ? ” “ Only 
once, of course I I did not want to take such a fel- 
low for my lover.” “ Did you keep him long after 
that ? ” “ Yes, of course. I have him still. Why 


198 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


should I have sent him away? I had nothing to 
complain of.” “ Oh ! Andree ! And is he in love 
with vou still ? ” “ Of course he is.” Where is 

he?”' 

The little Baroness put out her hand to the wall 
and touched the electric bell, and the door opened 
almost immediately, and a tall footman came in who 
diffused a scent of eau de Cologne all round him. 
“ Joseph,” she said to him, “ I am afraid I am going 
to faint ; send my lady’s maid to me.” 

The man stood motionless, like a soldier before 
his officer, and fixed an ardent look on his mistress, 
who continued : “ Go quickly, you great idiot ; we 
are not in the wood to-day, and Rosalie will attend 
to me better than you would.” He turned on his 
heels and went, and the little Baroness asked 
nervously : “ But what shall you say to your 

maid ? ” “I shall tell her what we have been do- 
ing! No, I shall merely get her to unlace me; it 
will relieve my chest, for I can scarcely breathe. I 
am drunk . . . my dear ... so drunk 
that I should fall if I were to get up from my 
chair.” 


THE PEDDLER 


H OW many fleeting associations, trifling things, 
chance meetings, humble dramas we have 
witnessed or guessed at, while our mind is 
still ignorant and unformed, are, as it were, guiding 
threads which lead it gradually to a knowledge of 
sad realities. 

As . I saunter along idly in my customary walks 
my mind, abstracted in endless, aimless reverie, 
constantly recurs to little, long-past incidents, amus- 
ing or the reverse, which rise up before me like 
birds in the brush. 

This summer, as I was wandering along a road 
in Savoy overlooking the right bank of the Lake of 
Bourget, and as my glance lingered on that mass 
of water, mirror-like and of a unique shade of pale 
blue, as it gleamed in the rays of the setting sun, I 
felt my heart stirred by that emotion which I have 
felt since childhood for lakes, rivers, the sea. 

On the other bank of the immense watery sur- 
face rose the high mountain range, its base extend- 
ing in one direction toward the Rhone, and in the 
other toward the Bourget, beyond the line of vision, 
its crest dentated like a cock’s comb as far as the 
last summit of the “ Dent du Chat.” On either 


200 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


side of the road grapevines, festooned from tree to 
tree, smothered with their leaves the slender 
branches round which they twined, and extended 
across the landscape in green, yellow, and red gar- 
lands, dotted with clusters of black grapes. 

The road was deserted, white, and dusty. Sud- 
denly a man emerged from the grove of large trees 
that incloses the village of Saint-Innocent, and, 
bending under a load, he came toward me, leaning 
on a cane. 

As he approached I recognized in him one of 
those peddlers, or wandering merchants, who sell 
small articles for a trifling amount, and there came 
to my mind a reminiscence of days long past, a 
mere nothing, simply an adventure that happened to 
me between Argenteuil and Paris when I was 
twenty-five. 

All my happiness at that time consisted in boat- 
ing. I had taken a room at a cheap eating house in 
Argenteuil, and every evening I took the parlia- 
mentary train, that long, slow train that deposits at 
every station a crowd of men carrying packages. 
They are heavy and corpulent, as they take no exer- 
cise, and their trousers are baggy from continually 
sitting at an office desk. This train, in which I 
seemed to get a whiff of the office and of official 
documents, deposited me at Argenteuil. My boat 
was waiting for me, ready to skim over the water, 
and I rowed along rapidly, dining either at Chatou, 
at Epinay, or at Saint-Ouen. When I got back I 
put away my boat and started on foot for Paris 
with the moon shining down on me. 


THE PEDDLER 


201 


Well, one night on the white road I perceived in 
front of me a man walking. Oh ! I was constantly 
meeting those night travellers of the Parisian 
suburbs so much dreaded by belated citizens. This 
man went on slowly before me with a heavy load 
on his shoulders. 

I came right up to him at a rapid pace, my steps 
resounding on the road. He stopped and turned 
round; then, to avoid me, he crossed to the oppo- 
site side of the road. 

As I rapidly passed him, he called out to me : 

Hullo ! good evening. Monsieur.” 

I responded : 

Good evening, mate.” 

He went on: 

“ Are you going far ? ” 

“ I am going to Paris.” 

You won’t be long getting there; you’re going 
at a good pace. As for me, I have too big a load 
on my shoulders to walk so quickly.” 

I slackened my pace. Why had this man spoken 
to me? What was he carrying in this big pack? 
Vague suspicions of crime sprang up in my mind 
and made me curious. The columns of the news- 
papers every morning contain so many accounts of 
crimes committed in this place, the peninsula of 
Gennevilliers, that some of them must be true. 
Such things are not invented merely to amuse read- 
ers — all this catalogue of arrests and varied mis- 
deeds with which the reports of the law courts are 
filled. 

However, this man’s voice seemed rather timid 


202 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


than bold, and up to the present his manner had 
been more cautious than aggressive. 

In my turn I began to question him : 

“ And you, are you going far? ” 

“ Not farther than Asnieres.” 

“ Is Asnieres your place of abode ? ’’ 

“ Yes, Monsieur, I am a peddler by occupation, 
and I live at Asnieres.” 

He had left the sidewalk where pedestrians walk 
beneath the shade of the trees in the daytime and 
walked in the middle of the road. I did the same. 
We glanced suspiciously at each other, holding our 
sticks in our hands. When I was quite close to him 
I felt perfectly reassured; he apparently shared 
this feeling, for he asked: 

“Would you mind going a little more slowly?” 

“ Why should I go slowly ? ” 

“ Because I don’t care for this road by night. I 
have goods on my back, and two are always better 
than one. When two men are together people sel- 
dom attack them.” 

I felt that he was right, and that he was afraid. 
So I yielded to his wishes, and we walked along, 
side by side, this stranger and I, at one o’clock in 
the morning, along the road leading from Argen- 
teuil to Asnieres. 

“ Why are you going home so late if it is so 
dangerous ? ” I asked my companion. 

He told me his history. He had not intended to 
return home this evening, as he had taken with him 
that very morning a stock of goods to last him 
three or four days. But he had been so fortunate 


THE PEDDLER 


203; 


in disposing of them that he found it necessary to» 
return home at once in order to deliver next day 
a number of things which had been bought on 
credit. 

He explained to me with genuine satisfaction 
that he was doing very well, having a talent for 
talking, and that while displaying some trifles while 
chatting he was able to dispose of many other things 
that were heavy to carry. 

He added : 

“ I have a shop at Asnieres. My wife keeps it.’^ 

“ Ah ! So you’re married ? ” 

“ Yes, Monsieur, for the last fifteen months. I 
have a very nice wife. She’ll be surprised when 
she sees me coming home to-night.” 

He then gave me an account of his marriage. He 
had been attentive to this girl for two years, but 
she had taken time to make up her mind. 

She had since her childhood kept a little shop at 
the corner of a street, where she sold all sorts of 
things — ribbons, flowers in summer, and principally 
pretty little shoe-buckles, and many other trifles, of 
which, owing to the kindness of a manufacturer, 
she made a specialty. She was well known in As- 
nieres as “ La Bluette.” This name was given to 
her because she often dressed in blue. And she 
made money, as she was very clever in everything 
she did. He did not think she was very well at the 
present moment, and believed she was enceinte, but 
he was not quite sure. Their business was pros- 
pering, and he travelled about exhibiting samples 
to all the small dealers in the adjoining districts.. 


204 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


He had become a sort of travelling commission 
agent for some of the manufacturers, working at 
the same time for them and for himself. 

And you — what is your business ? ” he said. 

I answered hesitatingly. I explained that I had 
a sailing-boat and two yawls in Argenteuil, that I 
came for a row every evening, and that, as I was 
fond of exercise, I sometimes walked back to Paris, 
where I had a profession, which I led him to infer 
was a lucrative one. 

He remarked: 

Faith, if I had spondulics like you, I wouldn’t 
amuse myself by trudging along the roads like this 
at night. It isn’t safe along here.” 

He gave me a sidelong glance, and I asked my- 
self whether he might not, after all, be a cunning 
rascal, who did not want to run any fruitless risk. 

Then I felt reassured as he murmured : 

^'A little less quickly, if you please. This pack 
of mine is heavy.” 

The sight of a group of houses showed that we 
had reached Asnieres. 

“ I am almost at home,” he said. “ We don’t 
sleep in the shop; it is watched at night by a dog, 
but a dog who is worth four men. And then it 
costs too much to live in the centre of the town. 
But listen to me. Monsieur! You have rendered 
me a great service, for I don’t feel my mind at ease 
when I’m travelling with my pack along the roads. 
So now you must come in with me and drink a glass 
of mulled wine with my wife if she hasn’t gone to 
bed, for she is a sound sleeper and doesn’t like to 


THE PEDDLER 


205 


be waked up. Besides, I’m not a bit afraid without 
my pack, and so I’ll see you to the gates of the city 
with a cudgel in my hand.” 

I declined the invitation; he insisted on my com- 
ing in; I still held back; he pressed me with so 
much earnestness and evident sincerity and regret 
at my refusal, for he expressed himself well, ask- 
ing me if I would not take a drink with him be- 
cause of his occupation, that I at last yielded, and 
followed him along a lonely road to one of those 
large dilapidated houses that one sees on the out- 
skirts of suburbs. 

Arrived at the door, I hesitated. This great 
plaster barrack looked like a thieves’ resort, like 
a den of highway robbers. But he made me take 
the lead as he pushed open a door. He guided me 
with his hands on my shoulders, through profound 
darkness, toward a stairway where I had to feel my 
way with my hands and feet, with a well-grounded 
apprehension of tumbling into some gaping cellar. 

When I had reached the first landing he said to 
me : “ Go on up ! It’s on the sixth story.” 

I searched my pockets, and, finding there a box 
of candle matches, I lighted the way up the ascent. 
He followed me, puffing beneath his pack, as he re- 
peated : 

“ It’s high up ! It’s high up ! ” 

When we were at the top of the house he drew 
forth a key attached to the inside of his coat by a 
string, and, unlocking the door, he made me 
enter. 

It was a little whitewashed room, with a table in 


206 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


the centre, six chairs, and a kitchen-cupboard close 
to the wall. 

“ I am going to wake up my wife,” he said ; 
then I am going down to the cellar to fetch some 
wine; it doesn’t keep up here.” 

He went over to one of the two doors which 
opened out of this apartment, and called : 

Bluette ! Bluette ! ” Bluette did not reply. He 
called out in a louder tone : “ Bluette ! Bluette ! ” 

Then, knocking at the partition with his fist, he 
growled : “ Will you wake up, in God’s name ? ” 

He waited, put his ear to the keyhole, and mut- 
tered, in a calmer tone : “ Pooh ! if she is asleep, 

she must be allowed to sleep ! I’ll go and get the 
wine ; wait a couple of minutes for me.” 

He disappeared. I sat down and made the best 
of it. 

What had I come to this place for ? All of a sud- 
den I gave a start, for I heard people talking in low 
tones, and moving about quietly, almost noiselessly, 
in the room where the wife slept. 

The devil ! I must have fallen into a trap ! How 
was it she did not wake, this Bluette, at all the noise 
her husband made? Perhaps it was only a signal 
to say to his accomplices : “ There’s a mouse in 

the trap. I’ll watch the door; you attend to the 
rest.” I could hear them more distinctly ; they were 
turning the key in the lock. My heart beat rapidly. 
I retreated to the other end of the room, saying to 
myself : “ Well, I must defend myself! ” and, seiz- 
ing a chair, I prepared for an energetic struggle. 

The door opened slightly, and a hand appeared 


THE PEDDLER 


207 


holding it ajar; then a head, the head of a man 
wearing a hard felt hat, was pushed through the 
half-open door, and I saw two eyes looking at me. 
Then, so quickly that I had not time to think of de- 
fending myself, the individual, the supposed crim- 
inal, a big young fellow, with bare feet and his 
clothes just thrown on him, without a tie, his shoes 
in his hand, a handsome fellow, truly, almost a gen- 
tleman, sprang toward the entrance door and dis- 
appeared down the stairway. 

I sat down again. This was becoming interest- 
ing. I waited for the husband, who was a long 
time getting the wine. At length I heard him com- 
ing upstairs, and the sound of his steps made me 
laugh, one of those solitary laughs which one can- 
not restrain. 

He came into the room, bringing two bottles, and 
he asked: 

“Is my wife still asleep? You have not heard 
her moving about ? ’’ 

I suspected that she had her ear to the door, 
and I said : 

“ No, I have heard nothing.” 

And now he again called out : 

“ Pauline ! ” 

She made no reply, and did not even move. 

He came back to me, and explained: 

“ You see, she doesn’t like me to come home at 
night and take a drop with a friend.” 

“ So you think she is not asleep ? ” 

“Of course she is not asleep.” He seemed an- 
noyed. 


208 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ Well, at any rate,” he said, let us have a 
drink together.” 

And he at once showed a disposition to empty 
the two bottles, one after the other, without more 
ado. 

This time I did display some energy. When I 
had swallowed one glass I rose up to leave. He no 
longer spoke of accompanying me, and, glancing 
toward the wife’s door with a sullen scowl, the 
scowl of a common man in an angry mood, the 
scowl of a brute whose violence is only slumbering, 
he muttered : 

“ She’ll have to open that door when you are 
gone.” 

I stared at this poltroon, who had worked him- 
self into a fit of rage without knowing why, per- 
haps owing to an obscure presentiment, the instinct 
of the deceived male who does not like closed doors. 
He had talked about her to me in a tender strain* 
now assuredly he was going to beat her. 

He exclaimed, as he shook the lock once more : 

“Pauline!” 

A voice like that of a woman waking out of her 
sleep replied from behind the partition: 

“Eh! What?” 

“ Didn’t you hear me come in ? ” 

“ No, I was asleep! Let me rest.” 

“ Open the door ! ” 

“ Yes, when you’re alone. I don’t like you to be 
bringing home fellows at night to drink with you.’' 

Then I took myself ofif, stumbling down the 
stairs, just as the other man had done, whose ac- 


THE PEDDLER 


209 


complice I was. And, as I resumed my journey 
toward Paris? I realized that I had just witnessed 
in this wretched abode a scene of the eternal drama 
which is being enacted every day, in every form, 
and in every class, and in every hemisphere. 


A PHILOSOPHER 


I HAD no secrets from Blerot, who had been my 
intimate friend from childhood. We were 
united heart and soul, like brothers, and were 
mutual confidants of each other’s love affairs. 

When he told me that he was going to get mar- 
ried I felt hurt, as if he had been guilty of treachery 
toward me. I felt that it must interfere with that 
cordial and absolute affection which had united us 
hitherto. His wife would come between us. The 
intimacy of marriage establishes a kind of com- 
plicity of mysterious alliance between two persons, 
even when they have ceased to love each other. 
Man and wife are like two discreet partners who 
will not let any one else into their secrets. But that 
close bond which the conjugal kiss rivets is widely 
loosened on the day on which the woman takes a 
lover. 

I remember Blerot’s wedding as if it were but 
yesterday. I would not be present at the signing 
of the marriage contract, as I have no particular 
liking for such ceremonies, but I only went to the 
civil wedding and to the church. 

His wife, whom I had never seen before, was a 


A PHILOSOPHER 


2II 


tall, slight girl, with pale hair, pale cheeks, pale 
hands, and eyes to match. She walked with a 
slightly undulating motion, as if she were on board 
a ship, and seemed to advance with a succession of 
long, graceful courtesies. 

Blerot seemed very much in love with her. He 
looked at her constantly, and I felt a shiver of im- 
moderate desire for her pass through my frame. 

I went to see him a few days after the wedding, 
and he said to me : 

“ You do not know how happy I am ; I am madly 
in love with her; but then she is . . . she is. 
. . He did not finish his sentence, but he put 
the tips of his fingers to his lips with a gesture 
which signified : 

“ Divine ! delicious ! perfect ! ” and a good deal 
more besides. 

I asked, laughing : “ What ! All that ? ” 

“ Everything that you can imagine,” was his an- 
swer. 

He introduced me to her. She was very pleas- 
ant, on easy terms with me, as was natural, and 
begged me to look upon their house as my own. I 
felt that he, Blerot, did not belong to me any lon- 
ger. Our intimacy was altogether checked, and we 
hardly found a word to say to each other. 

I soon took my leave, and shortly afterward went 
to the East, and returned by way of Russia, Ger- 
many, Sweden, and Holland, after an absence of 
eighteen months from Paris. 

The morning after my arrival, as I was walk- 
ing along the boulevards to breathe the air of my 


212 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


native city once more, I saw a pale man with 
sunken cheeks coming toward me, who was as much 
like Blerot as it was possible for a physically ema- 
ciated man to be to a strong, ruddy, rather stout 
man. I looked at him in surprise, and asked my- 
self : “ Can it possibly be he ? ” But he saw me, 

and came toward me with outstretched arms, and 
we embraced in the middle of the boulevard. 

After we had gone up and down once or twice 
from the Rue Drouot to the Vaudeville Theatre, 

4 as we were taking leave of each other, I said to 
him : 

You don’t look at all well. Are you ill? ” 

I do feel rather out of sorts,” was all he said. 

He looked like a man who was going to die, and 
I felt a flood of affection for my old friend, the 
only real friend I had ever had. I squeezed his 
hands. 

“ What is the matter with you ? Are you in 
pain ? ” 

'' A little tired ; but it is nothing.” 

“ What does your doctor say ? ” 

“ He calls it anaemia, and has ordered me to eat 
no white meat and to take tincture of iron.” 

A suspicion flashed across me. 

“ Are you happy ? ” I asked him. 

“Yes, very happy; my wife is charming, and I 
love her more than ever.” 

But I noticed that he grew rather red and 
seemed embarrassed, as if he were afraid of any 
further questions, so I took him by the arm and 
pushed him into a cafe, which was nearly empty at 


A PHILOSOPHER 


213 


that time of day. I forced him to sit down, and, 
looking him straight in the face, I said : 

“ Look here, old fellow, just tell me the exact 
truth.” 

“ I have nothing to tell you,” he stammered. 

“ That is not true,” I replied firmly. “ You 
are ill, mentally perhaps, and you dare not reveal 
your secret to any one. Something or other is 
injuring your health, and I mean you to tell me 
what it is. Come, now, I am waiting for you to 
begin.” 

Again he got very red, stammered, and, turning 
his head away, said : 

“ It is very idiotic — but I — I am done for ! ” 

As he did not go on, I said : 

“ Just tell me what it is.” 

“ Well, it is my wife — that is all,” he said 
abruptly, almost desperately. 

I did not understand at first. “ Does she make 
you unhappy ? How ? What is it ? ” 

No,” he replied, in a low voice, as if he were 
confessing some crime ; “ I love her too much, that 
is all.” 

I was thunderstruck at this brutal avowal, and 
then I felt inclined to laugh, but at length managed 
to reply: 

“ But surely, at least so it seems to me, you might 
manage to — to love her a little less.” 

He had grown very pale again, and at length 
made up his mind to speak to me frankly, as he 
used to do formerly. 

“ No,” he said, “ that is impossible ; and I am 


214 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


dying from it, I know; it is killing me, and I am 
really frightened. Some days, like to-day, I feel 
inclined to leave her, to go away altogether, to 
start for the other end of the world, so as to live 
for a long time ; and then, when the evening comes, 
I return home in spite of myself, but slowly, and 
feeling uncomfortable. I go upstairs hesitatingly 
and ring, and when I go in I see her there sitting 
in her easy-chair, and she says : ‘ How late you 

are ! ’ I kiss her, and we sit down to dinner. Dur- 
ing the meal I think to myself : ' I will go directly 
it is over, and take the train for somewhere, no 
matter where ; ’ but when we get back to the draw- 
ing-room I am so tired that I have not the courage 
to get up out of my chair, and so I remain, and 
then — and then — I succumb again.’' 

I could not help smiling again. He saw it, and 
said: “ You may laugh, but I assure you it is very 
horrible.” 

‘‘ Why don’t you tell your wife ? ” I asked him. 
“Unless she be a regular monster she would un- 
derstand.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “ It is all very well 
for you to talk. I don’t tell her because I know her 
nature. Have you ever heard it said of certain 
women, ' She has just married a third time’? Well, 
that makes you laugh as you did just now, and yet 
it is true. What is to be done? It is neither her 
fault nor mine. She is so because nature has made 
her so; I assure you, my dear old friend, she has 
the temperament of a Messalina. She does not 
know it, but I do ; so much the worse for me. She 


A PHILOSOPHER 


215 


seems like an ignorant schoolgirl, and she really is 
ignorant, poor child. 

Every day I form energetic resolutions, for you 
must understand that I am dying. But one look 
of her eyes, one of those looks in which I can read 
the ardent desire of her lips, is enough for me, and 
I succumb at once, saying to myself : ‘ This is really 
the end; I will have no more of her death-giving 
kisses,’ and then, when I have yielded again, as I 
have to-day, I go out and walk on ahead, thinking 
of death, and saying to myself that I am lost, that 
all is over. 

“ I am so mentally ill that I went for a walk to 
Pere Lachaise cemetery yesterday. I looked at all 
the graves, standing in a row like dominoes, and 
thought to myself : ‘ I shall soon be here,’ and then 
I returned home, quite determined to pretend to be 
ill, and so escape, but I could not. 

“ Oh ! You don’t know what it is. Ask a 
smoker who is poisoning himself with nicotine 
whether he can give up his delicious and deadly 
habit. He will tell you that he has tried a hun- 
dred times without success, and he will, perhaps, 
add : ' More’s the pity, but I had rather die than 

go without tobacco.’ That is just the case with me. 
When once one is in the clutches of such a passion 
or such a vice, one gives one’s self up to it entirely.” 

He got up and gave me his hand. I was seized 
with a tumult of rage, and with hatred for this 
woman, this careless, charming, terrible woman; 
and as Blerot was buttoning up his coat to go out I 
said to him, brutally perhaps: 


2i6 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ But, in God’s name, why don’t you let her have 
a lover, rather than kill yourself like that ? ” 

He shrugged his shoulders without replying, and 
went off. 

For six months I did not see him. Every morn- 
ing I expected a letter of invitation to his funeral, 
but would not go to his house from a complicated 
feeling of contempt for him and for that woman, 
a feeling of anger, indignation, of a thousand sen- 
sations. 

One lovely spring morning I was walking in the 
Champs Elysees. It was one of those warm days 
which make our eyes bright and stir in us a tumul- 
tuous feeling of happiness from the mere sense of 
existence. Some one tapped me on the shoulder, 
and, turning round, I saw my old friend, looking 
well, stout, and rosy. 

He gave me both hands, beaming with pleasure, 
and exclaimed: 

“ Here you are, you erratic individual ! ” 

I looked at him, utterly thunderstruck. 

“Well, on my word — yes. By Jove! I con- 
gratulate you; you have indeed changed in the last 
six months 1 ” 

He flushed scarlet, and said, with an embarrassed 
laugh : 

“ One can but do one’s best.” 

I looked at him so persistently that he evidently 
felt uncomfortable, and I went on: 

“ So — now — you are — completely cured ? ” 

He stammered, hastily : 

“Yes, perfectly, thank you.” Then, changing 


A PHILOSOPHER 


217 


his tone : How lucky that I should have come 

across you, old fellow ! I hope we shall often meet 
now.’' 

But I would not give up my idea ; I wanted to 
know how matters really stood, and I asked : 

“ Don’t you remember what you told me six 
months ago? I suppose — I — eh — suppose you con- 
trol yourself now ? ” 

Please don’t talk any more about it,” he re- 
plied uneasily ; “ forget that I mentioned it to you. 
But I have no intention of letting you go ; you must 
come and dine at my house.” 

A sudden fancy took me to see for myself how 
matters stood, so that I might understand all about 
it, and I accepted. 

His wife received me in a most charming man- 
ner, and she was, in fact, a most attractive woman. 
Her long hands and her neck and cheeks were 
beautifully white and delicate, and marked her 
breeding, and her walk was undulating and de- 
lightful. 

Rene gave her a brotherly kiss on the forehead 
and said : 

‘‘ Has not Lucien come yet ? ” 

“Not yet,” she replied, in a clear, soft voice; 
“ you know he is almost always rather late.” 

At that moment the bell rang, and a tall man was 
shown in. He was dark, with a thick beard, and 
looked like a modern Hercules. We were intro- 
duced ; his name was Lucien Delabarre. 

Rene and he shook hands in a most friendly man- 
ner, and then we went to dinner. 


2i8 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


It was a most enjoyable meal, without the least 
constraint. My old friend spoke with me con- 
stantly, in the old familiar, cordial manner, just as 
he used to do. It was : “ You know, old fellow ! ” 
“ I say, old fellow ! ” “ Just listen a moment, old 

fellow ! Suddenly he exclaimed : 

“ You don’t know how glad I am to see you 
again ; it takes me back to old times.” 

I looked at his wife and the other man. Their 
attitude was perfectly correct, though I fancied 
once or twice that they exchanged a rapid and fur- 
tive glance. 

As soon as dinner was over Rene turned to his 
wife, and said: 

“ My dear, I have just met Pierre again, and I 
am going to carry him off for a walk and a chat 
along the boulevards to remind us of old times. I 
am leaving you in very good company.” 

The young woman smiled, and said to me, as she 
shook hands with me : 

“ Don’t keep him too long.” v 

As we went along, arm in arm, I could not help 
saying to him, for I was determined to know how 
matters stood : 

“ I say, what has happened ? Do tell me ! ” 

He, however, interrupted me roughly, and an- 
swered like a man who has been disturbed without 
any reason : 

Just look here, old fellow ; let a man alone with 
your questions.” 

Then he added, half aloud, as if talking to him- 
self : 


A PHILOSOPHER 


219 


After all, it would have been too stupid to have 
let one’s self go to pot like that.” 

I did not press him. We walked on quickly and 
began to talk. All of a sudden he whispered in my 
ear: 

“I say, suppose we go and have a bottle of 
‘ fizz ’ with some girls ! Eh ? ” 

I could not prevent myself from laughing heart- 
ily. 

“ Just as you like ; come along, let us go.” 


WHAT WAS REALLY THE MATTER 
WITH ANDREW 


T he lawyer’s house looked on to the square. 
Behind it there was a well-kept garden, with 
a back entrance into a narrow street which 
was almost always deserted, and from which it was 
separated by a wall. 

At the bottom of that garden Maitre Moreau’s 
wife had promised, for the first time, to meet Cap- 
tain Sommerive, who had been making love to her 
for a long time. 

Her husband had gone to Paris for a week, so 
she was quite free for the time being. The Captain 
had begged so hard, and had used such loving 
words ; she was certain that he loved her ardently, 
and she felt so isolated, so misunderstood, so neg- 
lected amid all the law business which seemed to be 
her husband’s sole pleasure, that she had given 
away her heart without even asking herself whether 
it would give her anything else at some future time. 

Then, after some months of platonic love, of 
pressing of hands, of kisses rapidly stolen behind a 
door, the Captain had declared that he would ask 
permission to exchange, and leave the town imme- 
diately, if she would not grant him a meeting, a real 
meeting, during her husband’s absence; and so at 
length she yielded to his importunity. 


WHAT WAS THE MATTER WITH ANDREW 221 


Just then she was waiting, close against the wall, 
with a beating heart, trembling at the slightest 
sound, and when at length she heard somebody 
climbing up the wall, she very nearly ran away. 

Suppose it were not he, but a thief? But no; 
some one called out softly, “ Matilda ! ” and when 
she replied, “Etienne!” a man jumped on to the 
path with a crash. 

It was he — and what a kiss ! 

For a long time they remained in each other’s 
arms. But suddenly a fine rain began to fall, and 
the drops from the leaves fell on her neck and made 
her start. Whereupon he said : 

“ Matilda, my adored one, my darling, my angel, 
let us go indoors. It is twelve o’clock ; we can have 
nothing to fear.” 

“ No, dearest ; I am too frightened.” 

But he held her in his arms, and whispered : 

“ Your servants sleep on the third floor, looking 
on to the square, and your room, on the first, looks 
on to the garden, so nobody can hear us. I love 
you so that I wish to love you entirely, from head 
to foot.” And he kissed her fervently. 

She resisted still, frightened and even ashamed. 
But he put his arms round her, lifted her up, and 
carried her out of the rain, which was by this time 
descending in torrents. 

The door was open; they groped their way up- 
stairs, and when they were in the room he bolted 
the door while she lit a match. 

Then she fell, half fainting, into a chair, while 
he knelt down beside her. 


222 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


At last she said, panting : 

“ No ! no ! Etienne, please let me remain a virtu- 
ous woman. This is so horrid, so common. Cannot 
we love each other with a spiritual love only ? 

. . . Oh ! Etienne ! ” 

But he was beyond reasoning with, and she got 
up and tried to escape him, by hiding behind the 
curtains of the bedstead. As he hastily followed 
her his belt, which was loose, slipped off and his 
sword fell to the floor with a crash. 

A prolonged, shrill infant’s cry came from the 
next room, the door of which had remained open. 

“ You have awakened the child,” she whispered, 
“ and perhaps he will not go to sleep again.” 

He was only fifteen months old, and slept in a 
room opening out of hers, so that she might be able 
to hear him. 

The Captain exclaimed ardently; 

“ What does it matter, Matilda ? How I love 
you ! Come to me, Matilda.” 

But she struggled, and resisted in her fright. 

“No! no! Just listen how he is crying; he will 
wake up the nurse, and what should we do if she 
were to come? We should be lost. Just listen to 
me, Etienne. When he screams at night his father 
always takes him into our bed, and he is quiet im- 
mediately ; it is the only means of keeping him still. 
Do let me take him. . . .” 

The child roared, uttered shrill screams, which 
pierced the thickest wails, so as to be heard by 
passers-by in the streets. 

In his consternation, Etienne allowed her to go 


WHAT WAS THE MATTER WITH ANDREW 223 

and get the ’child, which she brought in and placed 
on the bed, when he .was quiet at once. 

Etienne sat astride on a chair and made a ciga- 
rette, and in about five minutes Andrew went to 
sleep again. 

“ I will take him back,” his mother said ; and she 
took him back very carefully to his bed. 

When she returned, the Captain was waiting for 
her with open arms, and put his arms round her in 
a transport of love, while she said, stammering: 

“ Oh ! Etienne, my darling, if you only knew 
how I love you ; how . . .” 

Andrew began to cry again, and he, in a rage, 
exclaimed : 

“ Confound it all, won’t the little brute be quiet ? ” 

No, the little brute would not be quiet, but, on 
the contrary, howled all the louder. 

Matilda thought she heard a noise downstairs; 
no doubt the nurse was coming, so she jumped up 
and took the child into bed, and he grew quiet di- 
rectly. 

Three times she put him back, and three times 
she had to fetch him again, and an hour before day- 
break the Captain had to go, swearing like the pro- 
verbial trooper; and, to calm his impatience, Ma- 
tilda said he might come again the next night. 

Of course he came, more impatient and ardent 
than ever, excited by the delay. 

He took care to put his sword carefully into a 
corner ; he took ofif his boots like a thief, and spoke 
so low that Matilda could hardly hear him. But 
just as he thought all was quiet a cry, feeble at 


224 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


first, but which grew louder every moment, made 
itself heard. Andrew was awake again. 

He uttered little spasmodic wails, and there was 
not the slightest doubt that if he went on like that 
the whole house would awake; so his mother, not 
knowing what to do, went and brought him in. The 
Captain was more furious than ever, but did not 
move, and very carefully he put out his hand, took a 
small piece of the child’s skin between his two fin- 
gers, no matter where it was, the thighs or else- 
where, and pinched it. The little one struggled and 
screamed in a deafening manner, but his tormentor 
pinched everywhere furiously and more vigorously. 
He took a morsel of flesh and twisted and turned it, 
and then let go in order to take hold of another 
piece, and then another and another. 

The child screamed like a chicken that is having 
its throat cut, or a dog that is being mercilessly 
beaten. His mother caressed him, kissed him, and 
tried to stifle his cries by her tenderness; but An- 
drew grew purple, as if he were going into convul- 
sions, and kicked and struggled with his little arms 
and legs in an alarming manner. 

The Captain said softly : 

“Try and take him back to his cradle; perhaps 
he will be quiet.” 

And Matilda went into the other room with the 
child in her arms. 

As soon as he was out of his mother’s bed he 
cried less loudly, and when he was in his own he 
was quiet, with the exception of a few broken sobs. 

The rest of the night was tranquil. 


WHAT WAS THE MATTER WITH ANDREW 225 


The next night Etienne came again. As he hap- 
pened to speak rather loudly, Andrew awoke again 
and began to scream. His mother went and fetched 
him immediately, but the Captain pinched so hard 
and long that the child was nearly suffocated by its 
cries, and its eyes turned in its head and it foamed 
at the mouth; as soon as it was back in its cradle 
it was quiet, and in four days Andrew did not cry 
any more to come into his mother’s bed. 

On Saturday evening the lawyer returned and 
took his place again at the domestic hearth. 

As he was tired with his journey he went to bed 
early; but he had not long lain down when he said 
to his wife : 

“Why, how is it that Andrew is not crying? 
Just go and fetch him, Matilda; I like to feel that 
he is between us.” 

She got up and brought the child, but as soon as 
he saw that he was in that bed, in which he had 
been so fond of sleeping a few days previously, he 
wriggled and screamed so violently in his fright 
that she had to take him back to his cradle. 

M. Moreau could not get over his surprise. 
“ What a very funny thing ! What is the matter 
with him this evening? I suppose he is sleepy?” 

“ He has been like that all the time that you were 
away; I have never been able to have him in bed 
with me once.” 

In the morning the child woke up and began to 
laugh and play with his toys. 

The lawyer, who was an affectionate man, got 
up, kissed his offspring, and took him into his arms 


226 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


to carry him to their bed. Andrew laughed, with 
the vacant laugh of little creatures whose ideas are 
still vague. He suddenly saw the bed and his 
mother in it, and his happy little face puckered up, 
till suddenly he began to scream furiously, and 
struggled as if he were going to be put to the tor- 
ture. 

In his astonishment his father said : 

“ There must be something the matter with the 
child,” and mechanically he lifted up his little night- 
shirt. 

He uttered a prolonged “ O — o — h ! ” of aston- 
ishment. The child’s calves, thighs, and legs were 
covered with blue spots as big as halfpennies. 

“ Just look, Matilda ! ” the father exclaimed ; 
this is horrible ! ” And the mother rushed for- 
ward in a fright. It was horrible ; no doubt the be- 
ginning of some sort of leprosy, of one of those 
strange affections of the skin which doctors are 
often at a loss to account for. 

The parents looked at one another in consterna- 
tion. 

“We must send for the doctor,” the father said. 

But Matilda, pale as death, was looking at her 
child, who was spotted like a leopard. Then, sud- 
denly uttering a violent cry as if she had seen some- 
thing that filled her with horror, she exclaimed : 

“ Oh ! the wretch ! ” 

In his astonishment M. Moreau asked : “ What 
are you talking about ? What wretch ? ” 

She got red up to the roots of her hair, and 
stammered : 


WHAT WAS THE MATTER WITH ANDREW 22/ 


‘‘ Oh, nothing ! but I think I can guess— ^it must 
be — we ought to send for the doctor ... it 
must be that wretch of a nurse who has been pinch- 
ing the poor child to make him keep quiet when he 
cries.” 

In his rage the lawyer sent for the nurse, and 
very nearly beat her. She denied it most impu- 
' dently, but was instantly dismissed, and the Munici- 
pality having been informed of her conduct, she will 
find it a hard matter to get another situation. 


CHRISTMAS EVE 


A 


CHRISTMAS-EVE supper! No, never 
again I ” said Henri Templier, in a furious 
tone, as if some one had suggested his par- 
ticipation in some crime. The others laughed and 
said : 

Why do you fly into a rage ? ” 

“ Because a Christmas-eve supper played me the 
dirtiest trick in the world, and ever since I have 
felt an insurmountable horror for that night of im- 
becile gayety.’’ 

“ Tell us about it! ” 

“You want to know what it was? Very well, 
then; just listen. 

“ You remember how cold it was two years ago 
at Christmas ; cold enough to kill people in the 
streets. The Seine was covered with ice ; the pave- 
ments froze one’s feet through the soles of one’s 
boots, and the whole world seemed to be about 
to come to an end. 

“ I had a big piece of work on, and so I refused 
every invitation to supper, as I preferred to spend 
the night at my writing table. I dined alone and 
then began to work. But about ten*o’clock I grew 
restless at the thought of the gay and busy life all 


CHRISTMAS EVE 


229 


over Paris, at the noise in the streets which reached 
me in spite of everything, at the sound of my neigh- 
bours’ preparations for supper, which. I heard 
through the walls. I hardly knew any longer what 
I was doing ; I wrote nonsense, and at last came to 
the conclusion that I had better give up all hope of 
producing any good work that night. 

“ I walked up and down my room ; I sat down 
and got up again. I was certainly under the mys- 
terious influences of the merriment outside, and I 
resigned myself to it. I rang for my servant and 
said to her : 

“ ' Angela, go and get a good supper for two ; 
some oysters, a cold partridge, some crayfish, ham, 
and some cakes. Put out two bottles of champagne, 
lay the cloth, and go to bed.’ 

She obeyed in some surprise, and when all was 
ready I put on my greatcoat and went out. A 
great question was to be solved : ‘ Whom was I 

going to bring in to supper ? ’ My female friends 
had all been invited elsewhere, and if I had wished 
to invite one, I ought to have seen about it before- 
hand, so, thinking that I would do a good action, I 
said to myself : 

“ * Paris is full of poor and pretty girls who will 
have nothing on their table to-night, and who are 
on the look-out for some generous fellow. I will 
act the part of Providence to one of them this even- 
ing; and I will find one if I have to go into every 
pleasure resort and have to question them and 
hunt till I find one to my choice.’ And I started off 
on my search. 


230 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ I certainly found many poor girls who were 
on the look-out for some adventure, but they were 
ugly enough to give any man a fit of indigestion, 
or thin enough to freeze on the spot if they had 
stood still. You all know that I have a weakness 
for stout women; the more embonpoint they have, 
the better I like them, and a female colossus would 
drive me out of my senses with delight. 

Suddenly, opposite the Theatre des Varietes, I 
saw a profile to my liking. A good head and a 
full figure. I was charmed, and said : 

“ ' By Jove ! What a fine girl ! ’ 

It only remained for me to see her face. A 
woman’s face is the dessert, while the rest is 
. . . the roast. 

“ I hastened on and overtook her, and turned 
round suddenly under a gas lamp. She was charm- 
ing, quite young, dark, with large black eyes, and I 
*“ immediately invited her to supper. She accepted 
without any hesitation, and a quarter of an hour 
later we were sitting at supper in my lodgings. 
' Oh, how comfortable it is here ! ’ she said as she 
came in, and she looked about her with evident sat- 
isfaction at having found a supper and a room on 
that bitter night. She was superb, so beautiful that 
she astonished me, and her figure fairly captivated 
me. 

She took off her cloak and hat, sat down, and 
began to eat; but she seemed in low spirits, and 
sometimes her pale face twitched as if she were 
suffering from some hidden sorrow. 

‘ Have you anything troubling you ? ’ I asked. 


CHRISTMAS EVE 


231 


“ ‘ Bah ! Don’t let us think of troubles ! ’ 

And she began to drink. She emptied her 
champagne glass at a draught, filled it again, and 
emptied it again, without stopping, and soon a lit- 
tle colour came into her cheeks, and she began to 
laugh. 

“ I adored her already, kissed her continually, and 
discovered that she was neither stupid,* nor com- 
mon, nor coarse as some ordinary girls are. I 
asked her for some details of her life, but she re- 
plied : 

“ ‘ My little fellow, that is no business of yours ! ’ 
Alas ! an hour later. . . . 

“ At last it was time to go to bed, and while I 
was clearing the table, which had been laid in front 
of the fire, she undressed herself quickly, and got 
in. My neighbours were making a terrible din, 
singing and laughing like lunatics, and so I said to 
myself : 

' I was quite right to go out and bring in this 
girl; I should never have been able to do any 
work.’ 

“ At that moment, however, a deep groan made 
me look round, and I said: 

“ ‘ What is the matter with you, my dear ? ’ 

“ She did not reply, but continued to utter pain- 
ful sighs, as if she were suffering horribly, and I 
continued : 

“ ‘ Do you feel ill ? ’ And suddenly she uttered a 
cry, a heartrending cry, and I rushed up to the 
bed, with a candle in my hand. 

Her face was distorted with pain, and she was 


232 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

wringing her hands, panting and uttering long, 
deep groans, which sounded like a rattle in the 
throat, and which are so painful to hear, and I 
asked her in consternation : 

“ ‘ What is the matter with you ? Do tell me 
what is the matter/ 

“ ' Oh ! my stomach ! my stomach ! ’ she said. I 
pulled up the bedclothes, and I saw. . . . My 

friends, she was in labour. 

“ Then I lost my head, and I ran and knocked at 
the wall with my fists, shouting : ' Help ! help ! ’ 

“ My door was opened almost immediately, and 
a crowd of people came in, men in evening dress, 
women in low necks, harlequins, Turks, musketeers, 
and this inroad startled me so that I could not ex- 
plain myself, and they, who had thought that some 
accident had happened, or that a crime had been 
committed, could not understand what was the mat- 
ter. At last, however, I managed to say: 

“ ‘ This . . . this . . . woman . . . is 

being confined.’ 

“ Then they looked at her and gave their opin- 
ion, and a friar, especially, declared that he knew 
all about it, and wished to assist nature, but as they 
were all as drunk as pigs, I was afraid that they 
would kill her, and I rushed downstairs without my 
hat, to fetch an old doctor who lived in the next 
street. When I came back with him the whole 
house was up; the gas on the stairs has been re- 
lighted, the lodgers from every floor were in my 
room, while four boatmen were finishing my cham- 
pagne and lobsters. 


CHRISTMAS EVE 


233 


As soon as they saw me they raised a loud 
shout, and a milkmaid presented me with a horrible 
little wrinkled specimen of humanity, that was 
mewing like a cat, and said to me : 

“ ‘ It is a girl.’ 

The doctor examined the woman, declared that 
she was in a dangerous state, as the event had oc- 
curred immediately after supper, and he took his 
leave, saying he would immediately send a sick 
nurse and a wet nurse, and an hour later the two 
women came, bringing all that was requisite with 
them. 

“ I spent the night in my armchair, too distracted 
to be able to think of the consequences, and almost 
as soon as it was light, the doctor came again, who 
found his patient very ill, and said to me : 

“ ‘ Your wife. Monsieur. . . .’ 

‘ She is not my wife,’ I interrupted him. 

“'Very well, then, your mistress; it does not 
matter to me.’ 

“ He told me what must be done for her, what 
her diet must be, and then wrote a prescription. 

“ What was I to do ? Could I send the poor crea- 
ture to the hospital? I should have been looked 
upon as a brute in the house and in all the neigh- 
bourhood, and so I kept her in my rooms, and she 
had my bed for six weeks. 

“ I sent the child to some peasants at Poissy to 
be taken care of, and she still costs me fifty francs 
a month, for as I had paid at first, I shall be obliged 
to go on paying as long as I live, and later on she 
will believe that I am her father. But, to crown 


234 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


my misfortunes, when the girl had recovered 
. . . I found that she was in love with me, 

madly in love with me, the baggage ! ” 

Well?’’ 

“ Well, she had grown as thin as a homeless 
cat, and I turned the skeleton out of doors, but she 
watches for me in the streets, hides herself, so that 
she may see me pass, stops me in the evening when 
I go out, in order to kiss my hand, and, in fact, 
worries me enough to drive me mad; and that is 
why I never keep Christmas eve now.” 


WORDS OF LOVE 


** Sunday. 

I NEVER see you, you do not write to me, you 
never come, so I must suppose that you have 
ceased to love me. But why? What have I 
done? Pray tell me, my own dear love. I love 
you so much, so dearly! I should like always to 
have you near me, to kiss you all day while I called 
you every tender name that I could think of. I 
adore you, I adore you, I adore you, my beautiful 
cock. Your affectionate hen, Sophie.” 

Monday. 

“My Dear Friend: You will absolutely under- 
stand nothing of what I am going to say to you, 
but that does not matter, and if my letter happens 
to be read by another woman, it may be profitable 
to her. 

“ Had you been deaf and dumb, I should no 
doubt have loved you for a very long time, and the 
cause of that which has happened is that you can 
talk; that is all. 

“ In love, you see, dreams are always songs, but 
in order that they may be so, they must not be in- 
terrupted; and when one talks between two kisses. 


236 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


one always interrupts that frenzied dream which 
our souls indulge in, unless one utters sublime 
words; and sublime words do not come out of the 
little mouths of pretty girls. 

You do not understand me at all, do you? So 
much the better, and I will go on. You are cer- 
tainly one of the most charming and adorable 
women whom I have ever seen. 

“ Are there any eyes on earth that contain more 
dreams than yours, more unknown promises, 
greater depths of love? I do not think so. And 
when that mouth of yours, with its two round lips, 
smiles, and shows the glittering white teeth, one is 
tempted to say that there issues from this ravishing 
mouth ineffable music, something inexpressibly deli- 
cate, a sweetness which makes us sob. 

“ Then you call me your ‘ beloved big rabbit,^ 
and then it seems to me as though I had suddenly 
found an entrance into your thoughts, that I can 
see your soul — that little soul of a pretty little crea- 
ture — yes, pretty, but — and that is what troubles 
me, don’t you see, troubles me more than tongue 
can tell. I would much prefer never to see you at 
all. 

You go on pretending not to understand any- 
thing, do you not ? I counted on that. 

“ Do you remember the first time you came to see 
me at my residence? How gayly you stepped in- 
side, an odour of violets, which clung to your dress, 
heralding your entrance; how we looked at each 
other, for ever so long, without uttering a word, 
after which we embraced like two fools . . . 


WORDS OF LOVE 


237 


then . . . then, from that time to this, we have 

never exchanged a word. 

“ But when we separated did not our trembling 
hands and our eyes say many things, things . . . 

which cannot be expressed in any language. At 
least, I thought so; and when you went away, you 
murmured : 

“ ‘ We shall meet again soon ! ’ 

“ That was all you said, and you will never 
guess what delightful dreams you left me, all that 
I, as it were, caught a glimpse of, all that I fancied 
I could guess in your thoughts. 

“ You see, my poor child, for men who are not 
stupid, who are rather refined and somewhat su- 
perior, love is such a complicated instrument that 
the merest trifle puts it out of order. You women 
never perceive the ridiculous side of certain things 
when you love, and you fail to see the grotesque- 
ness of some expressions. 

Why does a word which sounds quite right in 
the mouth of a small, dark woman seem quite 
wrong and funny in the mouth of a fat, light-haired 
woman? Why are the wheedling ways of the one 
altogether out of place in the other? 

“ Why is it that certain caresses which are de- 
lightful from the one should be wearisome from 
the other ? Why ? Because in everything, and espe- 
cially in love, perfect harmony, absolute agreement 
in motion, voice, words, and in demonstrations of 
tenderness, are necessary, according to age, height, 
the colour of the hair, and the style of beauty. 

“ If a woman of thirty-five, who has arrived at 


238 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


the age of violent, tempestuous passion, were to 
preserve the slightest traces of the caressing arch- 
ness of her love affairs at twenty, were not to un- 
derstand that she ought to express herself differ- 
ently, look at her lover differently and kiss him 
differently, were not to see that she ought to be a 
Dido and not a Juliette, she would infallibly dis- 
gust nine lovers out of ten, even if they could not 
account to themselves for their estrangement. Do 
you understand me? No. I hoped so. 

“ From the time that you turned on your tap of 
tenderness, it was all over for me, my dear friend. 
Sometimes we would embrace for five minutes, in 
one interminable kiss, one of those kisses which 
make lovers close their eyes, as if part of it would 
escape through their looks, as if to preserve it en- 
tire in that clouded soul which it is ravaging. And 
then, when our lips separated, you would say to 
me : 

“ ‘ That was nice, you fat old dog.’ 

At such moments I could have beaten you ; for 
you gave me successively all the names of animals 
and vegetables which you doubtless found in some 
cookery book or gardener’s manual. But that is 
nothing. 

“ The caresses of love are brutal, bestial, and if 
one comes to think of it, grotesque ! . . . Oh ! 

My poor child, what joking elf, what perverse sprite 
could have prompted the concluding words of your 
letters to me ? I have made a collection of them, but 
out of love for you I will not show them to you. 

“ And you really sometimes said things which 


WORDS OF LOVE 


239 


were quite inopportune, and you managed now and 
then to let out an exalted I love you! on such singu- 
lar occasions that I was obliged to restrain a strong 
desire to laugh. There are times when the words 
I love you! are so out of place that they become: 
indecent; let me tell you that. 

But you do not understand me, and many other 
women will also not understand me and think me 
stupid, though that matters very little to me. Hun- 
gry men eat like gluttons, but people of refinement 
are often disgusted and feel an invincible dislike 
for a dish on account of a mere trifle. It is the 
same with love as it is with cookery. 

“ What I cannot comprehend, for example, is that 
certain women who fully understand the irresistible 
attraction of fine embroidered stockings, the ex- 
quisite charm of shades, the witchery of valuable 
lace concealed in the depths of their underclothing, 
the exciting zest of hidden luxury, and all the subtle 
•delicacies of female elegance, never understand the 
invincible disgust with which words that are out of 
place, or foolishly tender, inspire us. 

“ At times coarse and brutal expressions work 
wonders, as they excite the senses and make the 
heart beat, and they are allowable at the hours of 
combat. 

“ I^othing shocks us that comes at the right time ;; 
but then, we must also know when to hold our 
tongue and to avoid phrases a la Paul de Kock at 
certain moments. 

“ And I embrace you passionately on the condi- 
tion that you say nothing, Rene.^* 


THE SUBSTITUTE 


M adame bonderoi?” 

Yes, Madame Bonderoi.” 

“ Impossible.” 

'' I tell you it is.” 

“ Madame Bonderoi, the old lady in a lace cap, 
the devout, pious, honourable Madame Bonderoi, 
whose little false curls looked as if they were glued 
to her head.” 

“ That is the very woman.” 

Oh ! Come, you must be mad.” 

I swear to you that it is Madame Bonderoi.” 
Then please give me the details.” 

“ Here they are. During the life of Monsieur 
Bonderoi, the lawyer, people said that she utilized 
his clerks for her own particular service. She is 
one of those respectable middle-class women, with 
secret vices and inflexible principles, of whom there 
are so many. She liked good-looking young fel- 
lows, and I should like to know what is more nat- 
ural than that? Do not we all like pretty girls? 

“ As soon as old Bonderoi was dead his widow 
began to live the peaceful and irreproachable life 
of a woman with a fair, fixed income. She went to 
church assiduously, and spoke evil of her neigh- 


THE SUBSTITUTE 


241 


hours, but gave no handle to any one to speak ill 
of her, and when she grew old she became the little 
wizened, sour-faced, mischievous woman whom you 
know. Well, this adventure, which you would 
scarcely believe, happened last Friday. 

My friend, Jean d’Anglemare, is, as you know, 
a captain in a dragoon regiment, and is quartered 
in the barracks in the Rue de la Rivette, and when 
he got to his quarters the other morning he found 
that two men of his squadron had had a terrible 
quarrel. The rules of military honour are very 
strict, and so they fought a duel. After the duel 
they became reconciled, and when their officer ques- 
tioned them they told him what their quarrel had 
been about. They had fought on Madame Bon- 
deroi’s account.” 

Is it possible? ” 

“ Yes, my dear fellow, about Madame Bonderoi. 

But I will let Trooper Siballe speak : 

“ ‘ This is how it was. Captain. About a year and 
a half ago I was lounging about the barrack-yard, 
between six and seven o’clock in the evening, when 
a woman came up and spoke to me, and said, just as 
if she had been asking her way : Soldier, would 

you like to earn ten francs a week, honestly ? ” Of 
course, I told her that I decidedly should, and so 
she said : Come and see me at twelve o’clock to- 

morrow morning. I am Madame Bonderoi, and 
my address is No. 6, Rue de la Tranchee.” “ You 
may rely upon my being there, Madame.” And as 
she went away, looking very* pleased, she added: 

I am very much obliged to you, soldier.” ' “ I am 


242 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

obliged to you, Madame,’’ I replied. But I plagued 
my head about the matter until the time came, all 
the same. 

‘ At twelve o’clock exactly I rang the bell, and 
she let me in herself. She had a lot of ribbons on 
her head. 

“‘“We must make haste,” she said; “as my 
servant might come in.” 

“ ‘ “ I am quite willing to make haste,” I replied, 
“ but what am I to do ? ” 

“ ‘ She only laughed, and replied : “ Don’t you 

understand, you great, knowing fellow ? ” 

“ ‘ I was no nearer her meaning, I give you my 
word of honour, Captain, but she came and sat 
down by me, and said : 

“ ‘ “ If you mention this to any one I will have 
you put in prison, so swear that you will never open 
your lips about it.” 

“ ‘ I swore whatever she liked, though I did not 
at all understand what she meant, and my forehead 
was covered with perspiration ; so I took my 
pocket-handkerchief out of my helmet, and she 
took it and wiped my brow with it ; then she kissed 
me, and whispered : “ Then you will ? ” “I will 

do anything you like, Madame,” I replied, “ as that 
is what I came for.” 

“ ‘ Then she made herself clearly understood by 
her actions, and when I saw what she meant, I put 
my helmet on a chair and showed her that in the 
dragoons a man never retires, Captain. 

“ ‘ Not that I cared much about it, for she was 
certainly not in her prime, but it is no good being 


THE SUBSTITUTE 


243 


too particular in such a matter, as ten francs are 
scarce, and then I have relations whom I like to 
help, and I said to myself : “ There will be five 

francs for my father out of that.” 

When I had done my allotted task. Captain, I 
got ready to go, though she wanted me to stay 
longer, but I said to her : 

“ ‘ “ To every one their due, Madame. A small 
glass of brandy costs two sous, and two glasses cost 
four.” 

“ ‘ She understood my meaning and put a gold 
ten-franc piece into my hand. I do not like that 
coin, because it is so small that if your pockets are 
not very well made, and come at all unsewn, one is 
apt to find it in one’s boots, or not to find it at all ; 
and so, while I was looking at it, she was looking at 
me. She got red in the face, as she had misunder- 
stood my looks, and she said : “ Is not that 

enough ? ” 

“ I did not mean that, Madame,” I replied ; 
“ but if it is all the same to you, I would rather 
have two five-franc pieces.” And she gave them to 
me, and I took my leave. This has been going on 
for a year and a half. Captain. I go every Tuesday 
evening, when you give me leave to go out of bar- 
racks; she prefers that arrangement, as her servant 
has gone to bed then, but last week I was not well, 
and I had to go into the infirmary. When Tuesday 
came I could not get out, and I was very much an- 
noyed, because of the ten francs which I had been 
receiving every week, and I said to myself : 

“ ^ If anybody goes there I shall be done for; 


244 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


and she will be sure to take an artilleryman/' and 
the idea made me very angry. So I sent for Pau- 
melle, who comes from my part of the country, and 
I told him how matters stood : 

“ ‘ “ There will be five francs for you, and five 
for me,” I said. He agreed, and went, as I had 
given him full instructions. She opened the door 
as soon as he knocked and let him in, and as she 
did not look at his face, she did not perceive that it 
was not I, for, you know, Captain, one dragoon is 
very like another, with their helmets on. 

‘ Suddenly, however, she noticed the change, 
and she asked angrily : “ What are you ? What do 
you want? I do not know you.” 

“ ‘ Then Paumelle explained matters ; he told her 
that I was not well, and that I had sent him as my 
substitute; so she looked at him, made him also 
swear to keep the matter secret, and then she ac- 
cepted him, as you may suppose, for Paumelle is 
not a bad-looking fellow, either. But when he came 
back. Captain, he would not give me my five francs. 
If they had been for myself I should not have said 
a word, but they were for my father, and on that 
score I would stand no nonsense, and I said to him : 

“ You are not particular in what you do, for 
a dragoon; you are a discredit to your uniform.” 

‘ He raised his fist. Captain, saying that fatigue 
duty like that was worth double. Of course, every- 
body has his own ideas, and he ought not to have 
accepted it. You know the rest.’ 

“ Captain d’Anglemar laughed until he cried as 
he told me the story, but he also made me promise 


THE SUBSTITUTE 


245 


to keep the matter a secret, just as he had promised 
the two soldiers. So, above all, do not betray me, 
but promise me to keep it to yourself.” 

“ Oh ! You may be quite easy about that. But 
how was it all arranged, in the end ? ” 

“How? It is a joke in a thousand! . . . 

Mother Bonderoi keeps her two dragoons, and re- 
serves his own particular day for each of them, 
and in that way everybody is satisfied.” 

“ Oh I That is capital ! Really capital.” 

“ And he can send his old father and mother the 
money as usual, and thus morality is satisfied.” 


THE CAKE 


W E will call her Madame Anserre, though it 
was not her real name. 

She was one of those Parisian comets 
who leave, as it were, a trail of light behind them. 
She wrote verses and novels; she had a poetic 
heart, and was ravishingly beautiful. She opened 
her doors to very few — only to exceptional people, 
those with the title of “ Prince.'’ 

To have the entree of her house stamped one as 
a person of intelligence, and it was an honour much 
appreciated. 

Her husband played the part of an obscure satel- 
lite. It is not easy to be the husband of a star. 
This husband had, however, an original idea, that 
of creating a state within a state, of possessing 
some value in himself, a secondary value, possibly; 
but still, in this way, when his wife held receptions 
he also held a reception on his own account. He 
had his special set who appreciated him, listened to 
him, and bestowed more attention on him than they 
did on his brilliant partner. 

He had devoted himself to agriculture — to agri- 
culture in the Chamber. There are in the same way 
generals in the Chamber — those who are born, who 


THE CAKE 


247 


live, and who die on the round leather chairs of the 
War Office are all of this sort, are they not? — sail- 
ors in the Chamber — viz., in the Admiralty — colo- 
nizers in the Chamber, etc., etc. So he had studied 
agriculture ; indeed, he had studied it deeply, in its 
relation to the other sciences, with political econ- 
omy, with the fine arts — we call everything art, 
even the horrible railway bridges are “ works of 
art.” At length he reached the point when it was 
said of him : “ He is a man of ability.” He was 
quoted in the technical reviews ; his wife had suc- 
ceeded in getting him appointed a member of a 
committee at the Ministry of Agriculture. 

This modest glory was quite sufficient for him. 

Under pretext of diminishing expenses he in- 
vited his friends for the same day his wife received 
hers, so that they mixed together, or, rather, they 
did not — they formed two groups. Madame, with 
her escort of artists, academicians, and Ministers, 
occupied a kind of hall, furnished and decorated in 
the style of the Empire. Monsieur generally with- 
drew with his agriculturists into a smaller portion 
of the house used as a smoking-room and ironically 
described by Madame Anserre as the Salon of Agri- 
culture. 

The two camps were distinctly separate. Mon- 
sieur would sometimes venture into the Academy, 
and cordial handshakings were exchanged, but the 
Academy entertained infinite contempt for the 
Salon of Agriculture, and it was rarely that one of 
the princes of science, of thought, or of anything 
else, mingled with the agriculturists. 


248 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


These receptions occasioned little expense — a cup 
of tea, a cake, that was all. Monsieur, at an earlier 
period, had claimed two cakes, one for the Acad- 
emy and one for the agriculturists, but, Madame 
having rightly suggested that this way of acting 
seemed to indicate two camps, two receptions, two 
parties. Monsieur did not press the matter, so that 
they had only one cake, of which Madame Anserre 
did the honours at the Academy, and which then 
passed into the Salon of Agriculture. 

Now, this cake was soon, for the Academy, a 
subject of observation well calculated to arouse 
curiosity. Madame Anserre never cut it herself. 
That function always fell to the lot of one or other 
of the illustrious guests. The particular duty, 
which was supposed to carry with it honourable 
distinction, was performed by each person for a 
pretty long period, in one case for three months, 
scarcely ever for more ; and it was noticed that the 
privilege of “ cutting the cake ” carried with it a 
heap of other marks of superiority — a sort of roy- 
alty, or, rather, very accentuated vice-royalty. 

The reigning cutter spoke in a haughty tone, 
with an air of marked command ; and all the favours 
of the mistress of the house were for him alone. 

These happy individuals were in moments of in- 
timacy described in hushed tones behind doors as 
the “ favourites of the cake,” and every change of 
favourite introduced into the Academy a sort of 
revolution. The knife was a sceptre, the pastry an 
emblem; the chosen ones were congratulated. The 
agriculturists never cut the cake. Monsieur him- 


THE CAKE 


249 


self was always excluded, although he ate his share. 

The cake was cut in succession by poets, by 
painters, and by novelists. A great musician had 
the privilege of measuring the portions of the cake 
for some time ; an ambassador succeeded him. 
Sometimes a man less well known, but elegant and 
sought after, one of those who are called, according 
to the different epochs, “ true gentleman,” or “ per- 
fect knight,” or “ dandy,” or something else, seated 
himself, in his turn, before the symbolic cake. Each 
of them, during his ephemeral reign, exhibited 
greater consideration toward the husband; then, 
when the hour of his fall had arrived, he passed 
on the knife toward the other, and mingled once 
more with the crowd of followers and admirers of 
the “ beautiful Madame Anserre.” 

This state of things lasted a long time, but 
comets do not always shine with the same brilliance. 
Everything gets worn out in society. One would 
have said that gradually the eagerness of the cut- 
ters grew feebler; they seemed to hesitate at times 
when the tray was held out to them ; this office, once 
so much coveted, became less and less desired. It 
was retained for a shorter time; they appeared to 
be less proud of it. 

Madame Anserre was prodigal of smiles and 
civilities. Alas! no one was found any longer to 
cut it voluntarily. The newcomers seemed to de- 
cline the honour. The “ old favourites ” reappeared 
one by one like dethroned princes who have been 
replaced in power for a brief spell. Then, the 
chosen ones became few, very few. For a month 


250 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


(oh, wonder!) M. Anserre cut the cake; then he 
looked as if he were getting tired of it; and one 
evening Madame Anserre, the beautiful Madame 
Anserre, was seen cutting it herself. But this ap- 
peared to be very wearisome to her, and next day 
she urged one of her guests so strongly to do it 
that he did not dare to refuse. 

The symbol was too well known, however; the 
guests stared at one another with scared, anxious 
faces. To cut the cake was nothing, but the privi- 
leges to which this favour had always given a claim 
now frightened people; therefore, the moment the 
dish made its appearance the academicians rushed 
pell-mell into the Salon of Agriculture, as if to 
shelter themselves behind the husband, who was 
perpetually smiling. And when Madame Anserre, 
in a state of anxiety, presented herself at the door 
with a cake in one hand and the knife in the other, 
they all seemed to form a circle around her hus- 
band as if to appeal to him for protection. 

Some years passed. Nobody cut the cake now; 
but, yielding to an inveterate habit, the lady who 
had always been gallantly called “ the beautiful 
Madame Anserre ” looked out each evening for 
some devotee to take the knife, and each time the 
same movement took place around her, a general 
flight, skillfully arranged, and full of combined and 
clever manoeuvres to avoid the offer that was ris- 
ing to her lips. 

But, one evening, a young man presented him- 
self at her reception — an innocent, unsophisticated 
youth. He knew nothing about the mystery of the 


THE CAKE 


251 


cake; accordingly, when it appeared, and when all 
the rest ran away, when Madame Anserre took 
from the man-servant’s hands the dish and the 
pastry, he remained quietly by her side. 

She thought that, perhaps, he knew about the 
matter; she smiled and, in a tone which showed 
some emotion, said : 

'' Will you be kind enough, dear Monsieur, to 
cut this cake ? ” 

He displayed the utmost readiness, and took off 
his gloves, flattered at such an honour being con- 
ferred on him. 

“ Oh, to be sure, Madame, with the greatest 
pleasure.” 

Some distance away in the doorway leading to 
the Salon of Agriculturists were faces full of 
amazement looking on. Then, when the spectators 
saw the newcomer cutting without any hesitation, 
they qnickly came forward. 

An old poet jocosely slapped the neophyte on the 
shoulder. 

“ Bravo, young man ! ” he whispered in his ear. 

The others gazed at him with curiosity. Even 
the husband appeared to be surprised. As for the 
young man, he was astonished at the consideration 
which they suddenly seemed to show toward him; 
above all, he failed to comprehend the marked at- 
tentions, the manifest favour, and the species of 
mute gratitude which the mistress of the house 
bestowed on him. 

It appears, however, that he eventually found out. 

At what moment, in what place, was the revela- 


252 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


tion made to him? Nobody could tell; but when 
he again presented himself at the reception he had 
a preoccupied air, almost a shamefaced look, and 
he cast around him a glance of uneasiness. 

The bell rang for tea. The man-servant ap- 
peared. Madame Anserre, with a smile, seized the 
dish, casting a look about her for her young friend ; 
but he had fled so precipitately that no trace of him 
could be seen any longer. Then she went looking 
everywhere for him, and ere long she discovered 
him in the Salon of the Agriculturists. With his 
arm locked in that of the husband, he was earnestly 
consulting that gentleman as to the best method of 
destroying phylloxera. 

“ My dear Monsieur,” she said to him, '' will 
you be so kind as to cut this cake for me ? ” 

He reddened to the roots of his hair, and, hang- 
ing down his head, stammered out some excuses. 
Thereupon M. Anserre took pity on him, and, turn- 
ing toward his wife, said: 

“ My dear, you might have the goodness not to 
disturb us. We are talking about agriculture. Let 
Baptiste cut your cake.” 

And since that day nobody has ever cut Madame 
Anserre’s cake. 


THE AWAKENING 


S HE had not left the Val de Cire, where her hus- 
band owned two cotton mills, in all the three 
years she had been married. She had no chil- 
dren, but, although she led a quiet life, was quite 
happy in her home among the trees, called the 
chateau by the mill operatives. 

Monsieur Vasseur, though considerably older 
than she was, was very kind to her. She loved 
him, and no untrue thought had ever entered her 
mind. 

Her mother came and spent every summer at 
Cire, and then returned to Paris for the winter, as 
soon as the leaves began to fall. 

Jeanne had a slight cough every autumn, for the 
narrow valley through which the river wound be- 
came foggy for five months. First of all, there 
would be slight mists over the meadows, making all 
the low ground look like a large pond, above which 
the roofs of the houses appeared. 

This white vapour, which rose like a tide, soon 
enveloped everything, and turned the valley into a 
land of phantoms, where men moved about like 
ghosts, unable to recognize each other ten yards 
ofif, and the trees, dripping with moisture, rose up 
through the mist. 

But the people who passed along the neighbour- 


254 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


ing hills and looked down upon the deep, white de- 
pression of the valley saw the two huge chimneys 
of Monsieur Vasseur’s factories rising above the 
mist below. Day and night they vomited forth two 
long streams of black smoke, and that alone indi- 
cated that people were living in that hollow, which 
looked as if it were filled with a cloud of cotton. 

That year, when October came, the medical men 
advised the young woman to go and spend the win- 
ter in Paris with her mother, as the air of the val- 
ley was dangerous for her weak chest, and she 
went. For a month or so she thought continually 
of the home which she had left, to which she was 
attached, and whose well-known furniture and quiet 
ways she loved so much, but by degrees she became 
accustomed to her new life, and enjoyed entertain- 
ments, dinner and evening parties, and balls. 

Till then she had retained her girlish manners; 
she had been undecided and rather inert ; she walked 
languidly, and had a tired smile, but now she be- 
came animated and merry, and was always ready 
for amusement. Men paid her marked attention, 
and she was amused at their talk and made fun of 
their gallantries, as she felt sure that she could re- 
sist them, for she was rather disgusted with what 
is called love, from what she had learned of it in 
marriage. 

The idea of giving up her body to the coarse 
caresses of such bearded creatures made her laugh 
with pity, and shudder a little with ignorance. 

She asked herself how women could consent to 
those degrading contacts with strangers, as they 


THE AWAKENING 


255 


were already obliged to endure them with their 
legitimate husbands. She would have loved her 
husband much more if they had lived together like 
two friends and had restricted themselves to chaste 
kisses, which are the caresses of the soul. 

But she was much amused by their compliments, 
by the desire which showed itself in their eyes, and 
which she did not reciprocate, by their declarations 
of love, which they whispered into her ear as they 
were returning to the drawing-room after some 
grand dinner, by their words, which were mur- 
mured so low that she almost had to guess them, 
and which left her blood quite cool and her heart 
untouched, while they gratified her unconscious co- 
quetry, while they kindled a flame of pleasure 
within her that brought a smile to her lips, made 
her eyes glow, and her woman’s heart, to which 
homage was due, quiver with delight. 

She was fond of those tHe-d-tetes when it was 
getting dusk, when a man grows persistent, stam- 
mers, trembles, and falls on his knees. It was a 
delicious and new pleasure to her to know that they 
felt that passion which left her quite unmoved, to 
say no, by a shake of the head, and with her lips; 
to withdraw her hands, to get up and calmly ring 
for lights, and to see the man who had been trem- 
bling at her feet get up, confused and furious, when 
he heard the footman coming. 

She often gave a hard laugh, which froze the 
most burning words, and said sharp things, which 
fell like a jet of icy water on the most ardent pro- 
testations, while the intonations of her voice were 


256 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


enough to make any man who really loved her kill 
himself. There were two especially who made ob- 
stinate love to her, although they did not at all re- 
semble one another. 

One of them, Paul Peronel, was a tall man of 
the world, gallant and enterprising, a man who was 
accustomed to successful love affairs, and who 
knew how to wait and when to improve his oppor- 
tunity. 

The other. Monsieur d’Avancelle, trembled when 
he approached her, scarcely ventured to express his 
love, but followed her like a shadow and gave ut- 
terance to his hopeless desire by distracted looks 
and the assiduity of his attentions, while she made 
him a kind of slave who followed her steps, and 
whom she treated as if he had been her servant. 

She would have been much amused if anybody 
had told her that she would love him, and yet she 
did love him after a singular fashion. As she saw 
him continually she had grown accustomed to his 
voice, to his gestures, and to his manner, as one 
grows accustomed to those whom one meets contin- 
ually. His face frequently haunted her dreams, and 
she saw him as he really was — gentle, delicate in 
all his actions, humble, but passionately in love — 
and she awoke full of those dreams, fancying that 
she still heard him and felt him near her, until one 
night (most likely she was feverish) she saw her- 
self alone with him in a small wood, where they 
were both sitting on the grass. He was saying 
tender things to her, while he pressed and kissed 
her hands. 


THE AWAKENING 


257 


She could feel the warmth of his skin and of his 
breath, and she was stroking his hair in a very 
natural manner. 

We are quite different in our dreams to what we 
are in real life. She felt full of love for him, full 
of calm and deep love, and was happy in stroking 
his forehead and in having him near her. Gradu- 
ally he put his arms round her, kissed her eyes 
and her cheeks without her attempting to get away 
from him, and their lips met. . . . 

When she saw him again, though he was uncon- 
scious of the agitation that he had caused her, she 
felt that she was blushing, and while he was telling 
her of his love she was continually recalling to 
mind her dream, without being able to get rid of 
the recollection. 

She loved him, loved him with refined tender- 
ness, which arose chiefly from the remembrance of 
her dream, although she dreaded its realization. 

At last he perceived her embarrassment, and then 
she told him everything, even to the dread of his 
kisses, and she made him swear that he would re- 
spect her, and he did so. They spent long hours 
of ideal love together, during which their souls were 
in harmony. 

Sometimes their lips met, but she felt that she 
could not resist the infatuation much longer, and as 
she did not wish to dishonour herself, she wrote 
and told her husband that she wanted to come to 
him, and to return to her tranquil, solitary life. He 
wrote her a very kind letter in reply, and strongly 
advised her not to return in the middle of the win- 


258 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

ter and expose herself to a sudden change of cli- 
mate and to the icy mists of the valley. She was 
astonished and angry with that confiding man, who 
did not guess, who did not understand, the struggles 
of her heart. 

February was a warm, bright month, and, al- 
though she now avoided being alone with Monsieur 
Avancelle, she sometimes accepted his invitation to 
drive round the lake in the Bois de Boulogne with 
him in the twilight. 

On one of these evenings it was so warm that it 
seemed as if the sap in every tree and plant was 
rising. Their cab was going at a walk ; it was grow- 
ing dusk, and they were sitting close together, hold- 
ing each other’s hands, and she said to herself : 

“ It is all over, I am lost ! ” for she felt the 
awakening of her desires, the imperious need of 
that supreme emotion which she had experienced in 
her dream. Every moment their lips sought each 
other, clung together and separated, only to meet 
again immediately. 

He did not venture to go into the house with her, 
but left her at the door, more in love with him 
than ever, and half fainting. 

Monsieur Paul Peronel was waiting for her in 
the little drawing-room without a light, and when 
he shook hands with her he felt how feverish she 
was. He began to talk in a low, tender voice, sooth- 
ing her weary mind with the charm of tender words. 

She listened to him without replying, for she was 
thinking of the other ; she thought she was listening 
to the other, and thought she felt him leaning 


THE AWAKENING 


259 


against her, in a kind of hallucination. She saw 
only Avancelle, and did not remember that any 
other man existed on earth, and when her ears 
trembled at those three syllables : “ I love you,” it 
was he, the other man, who uttered them, who 
kissed her hands, who strained her to his breast, as 
he had done shortly before in the cab. It was he 
who pressed victorious kisses on her lips, it was his 
lips, it was he whom she held in her arms and em- 
braced, whom she was calling to, with all the long- 
ings of her heart, with all the overwrought emo- 
tion of her being. 

The next day she returned to Val de Cire, and 
her husband, who had not expected her for some 
time, blamed her for her whim. 

I could not live away from you any longer,” 
she said. 

He found her altered in character and sadder 
than formerly, but when he said to her : 

“What is the matter with you? You seem un- 
happy. What do you want ? ” she replied : 

“ Nothing. Happiness exists only in our dreams 
in this world.” 

Avancelle came to see her the next summer, and 
she received him without any emotion, and without 
regret, for she suddenly perceived that she had 
never loved him, except in a dream, from which 
Paul Peronel had brutally roused her. 

But the young man, who still adored her, thought 
as he returned to Paris : 

“ Women are really very strange, complicated, 
and inexplicable beings.” 


AN ADVENTURE IN PARIS 


I S there any feeling stronger than curiosity in a 
woman ? Imagine seeing, knowing, touching 
what one has dreamed about! What would a 
woman not do for that? When once her eager 
curiosity is roused, she will be guilty of any folly, 
commit any imprudence, venture upon anything, 
and recoil from nothing. I am speaking of women 
who are really women, who are endowed with that 
three-layered disposition which appears to be rea- 
sonable and cold on the surface, but whose three 
secret compartments are filled : the first with fe- 
male restlessness, which is always in a state of flut- 
ter; the next with sly tricks which are coloured in 
imitation of good faith with those sophistical and 
formidable tricks of apparently devout women, and 
the last with all those charming, improper acts, 
with that delightful deceit, exquisite perfidy, and all 
those wayward qualities which drive lovers who 
are stupidly credulous to suicide, but which de- 
light others. 

The woman whose adventure I am about to re- 
late was a little person from the provinces, who had 
been insipidly chaste till then. Her life, wfech was 
apparently so calm, was spent at home, with a busy 


AN ADVENTURE IN PARIS 


261 


husband and two children, whom she brought up 
like an irreproachable w’oman. But her heart beat 
with unsatisfied curiosity and some unknown long- 
ing. She was continually thinking of Paris, and 
read the fashionable papers eagerly. The accounts 
of parties, of the dresses and various entertain- 
ments, excited her longing; but, above all, she was 
strangely agitated by those paragraphs which were 
full of double meaning, by that veil which was half 
raised by clever phrases, and which gave her a 
glimpse of culpable and ravishing delights, and 
from her country home she saw Paris in the 
apotheosis of magnificent and corrupt luxury. 

And during the long nights, when she dreamed, 
lulled by the regular snoring of her husband, who 
was sleeping on his back by her side, with a silk 
handkerchief tied round his head, she saw in her 
sleep those well-known men whose names appeared 
on the first page of the newspapers as great stars 
in a dark sky. She pictured to herself their life of 
continual excitement, of constant debauches, of 
orgies such as were indulged in in ancient Rome, 
which were horribly voluptuous, with refinements 
of sensuality which were so complicated that she 
could not even picture them to herself. 

The boulevards seemed to her to be a kind of 
abyss of human passions, and there could be no 
doubt that the houses there concealed mysteries of 
prodigious love. But she felt that she was growing 
old, and this without having known life, except in 
those regular, horribly monotonous, everyday occu- 
pations which constitute the happiness of the home. 


262 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


She was still pretty, for she was well preserved in 
her tranquil existence, like some winter fruit in a 
closed cupboard ; but she was agitated and de- 
voured by her secret ardour. She used to ask her- 
self whether she should die without having experi- 
enced any of those damning, intoxicating joys, 
without having plunged once, just once, into that 
flood of Parisian voluptuousness. 

By dint of much perseverance she paved the 
way for a journey to Paris, found a pretext, got 
some relations to invite her, and as her husband 
could not go with her, she went alone, and as soon 
as she arrived she invented a reason for remaining 
for two days, or, rather, for two nights, if neces- 
sary, as she told him that she had met some friends 
who lived a little way out of town. 

And then she set out on a voyage of discovery. 
She went up and down the boulevards, without see- 
ing anything except roving and numbered vice. 
She looked into the larger cafes, and read the 
“ agony column of the Figaro, which every morn- 
ing seemed to her like a tocsin, a summons to love. 
But nothing put her on the track of those orgies of 
actors and actresses; nothing revealed to her those 
temples of debauchery which she imagined opened 
at some magic word, like the cave in the Arabian 
Nights, or those catacombs in Rome where the 
mysteries of a persecuted religion were secretly 
celebrated. 

Her relations, who were quite middle-class peo- 
ple, could not introduce her to any of those well- 
known men with whose names her head was full, 


AN ADVENTURE IN PARIS 


263 


and in despair she was thinking of returning when 
chance came to her aid. One day, as she was go- 
ing along the Rue de la Chaussee d’Antin, she 
stopped to look into a shop full of that coloured 
Japanese bric-a-brac which strikes the eye on ac- 
count of its colour. She was looking at the little 
ivory clowns, the tall vases of flaming enamel, and 
the curious bronzes, when she heard the shop- 
keeper dilating, with many bows, on the value of 
an enormous, pot-bellied, comical figure, which was 
quite unique, he said, to a little, bald-headed, gray- 
bearded man. 

Every moment the shopkeeper repeated his cus- 
tomer’s name, which was a celebrated one, in a 
voice like a trumpet. The other customers, young 
women and well-dresed gentlemen, gave a swift 
and furtive, but respectful, glance at the celebrated 
writer, who was looking admiringly at the china 
figure. They were both equally ugly, as ugly as 
two brothers who had sprung from the same 
mother. 

“ I will let you have it for a thousand francs. 
Monsieur Varin, and that is exactly what it cost 
me. I should ask anybody else fifteen hundred, but 
I think a great deal of literary and artistic custom- 
ers, and have special prices for them. They all 
come to me. Monsieur Varin. Yesterday Monsieur 
Busnach bought a large, antique goblet of me, and 
the other day I sold two candelabra like this (is it 
not handsome?) to Monsieur Alexander Dumas. If 
Monsieur Zola were to see that Japanese figure he 
would buy it immediately, Monsieur Varin.” 


264 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

The author hesitated in perplexity, as he wanted 
to have the figure, but the price was above him, and 
he thought no more about her looking at him than 
if he had been alone in the desert. She came in 
trembling, with her eyes fixed boldly upon him, and 
she did not even ask herself whether he were good- 
looking, elegant, or young. It was Jean Varin 
himself, Jean Varin. After a long struggle and 
painful hesitation, he put the figure down on the 
table. “ No, it is too dear,” he said. The shop- 
keeper’s eloquence redoubled. “ Oh ! Monsieur 
Varin, too dear? It is worth two thousand francs, 
if it is worth a sou.” But the man of letters re- 
plied sadly, still looking at the figure with the 
enamelled eyes : “ I do not say it is not, but it is 
too dear for me.” And thereupon, seized by a kind 
of mad audacity, she came forward and said : 
“ What will you charge me for the figure ? ” The 
shopkeeper, in surprise, replied : “ Fifteen hun- 

dred francs, Madame.” “ I will take it.” 

The writer, who had not even noticed her till that 
moment, turned round suddenly; he looked at her 
from head to foot, with half-closed eyes, observ- 
antly, and then he took in the details, as a connois- 
seur. She was charming, suddenly animated by 
that flame which had hitherto been dormant in her. 
And then, a woman who gives fifteen hundred 
francs for a piece of bric-a-brac is not to be met 
with every day. 

She appeared overcome by a feeling of delightful 
delicacy, and, turning to him, she said in a trem- 
bling voice : “ Excuse me. Monsieur ; no doubt I 


AN ADVENTURE IN PARIS 


265 


have been rather hasty, as, perhaps, you had not 
finally made up your mind.” He, however, only 
bowed, and said : “ Indeed, I had, Madame.” And 
she, filled with emotion, continued : “ Well, Mon- 
sieur, if either to-day, or at any other time, you 
change your mind, you can have this Japanese fig- 
ure. I only bought it because you seemed to 
like it.” 

He was visibly flattered, and smiled : I should 
much like to find out how you know who I am ? ” 
he said. Then she told him how she admired him, 
and became quite eloquent as she quoted his works, 
and while they were talking he rested his arms on 
a table and fixed his bright eyes upon her, trying to 
make out who and what she really was. But the 
shopkeeper, who was pleased to have that living 
puff of his goods, called out, from the other end of 
the shop: “Just look at this, Monsieur Varin; is 
it not beautiful ? ” 

And then every one looked round, and she al- 
most trembled with pleasure at being seen talking 
so intimately with such a well-known man. 

At last, however, intoxicated, as it were, by her 
feelings, she grew bold, as a general does who is 
going to give the order for an assault. “ Mon- 
sieur,” she said, “ will you do me a great, a very 
great pleasure? Allow me to offer you this funny 
Japanese figure as a keepsake from a woman who 
admires you passionately, and whom you have seen 
for ten minutes.” 

Of course he refused and she persisted, but still 
he resisted her offer, at which he was much amused. 


266 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


and at which he laughed heartily; but that only 
made her more obstinate, and she said: “Very 
well, then, I shall take it to your house immediately ; 
where do you live ? ” 

He refused to give her his address, but she got 
it from the shopkeeper, and when she had paid for 
her purchase she ran out to take a cab. The writer 
went after her, as he did not wish to accept a pres- 
ent for which he could not possibly account. He 
reached her just as she was jumping into the ve- 
hicle, and, getting in after her, he almost fell over 
her, and then tumbled on to the bottom of the cab 
as it started. He picked himself up, however, and 
sat down by her side, feeling very much annoyed. 

It was no good for him to insist and to beg her; 
she showed herself obstinate, and when they got to 
the door, she stated her conditions : “ I will under- 
take not to leave this with you,” she said, “ if you 
will promise to do all I want to-day.” And the 
whole affair seemed so funny to him that he agreed. 
“ What do you generally do at this time ? ” she 
asked him ; and after hesitating for a few moments, 
he replied : “ I generally go for a walk.” “ Very 
well, then ; we will go to the Bois de Boulogne ! ” 
she said, in a resolute voice, and they started. 

He was obliged to tell her the names of all the 
well-known women, pure or impure, with every de- 
tail about them ; their life, their habits, their private 
affairs, and their vices; and when it was getting 
dusk, she said to him : “ What do you do every 

day at this time ? ” “I take some absinthe,” he re- 
plied, with a laugh. “ Very well, then. Monsieur,” 


AN ADVENTURE IN PARIS 267 

she went on, seriously; “let us go and have some 
absinthe/' 

They went into a large cafe on the boulevard, 
which he frequented, and where he met some of his 
colleagues, whom he introduced to her. She was 
half mad with pleasure, and kept saying to her- 
self : 

“ At last ! At last ! " But time went on, and she 
observed that she supposed it must be about his 
dinner-time, and suggested that they should go and 
dine. When they left Bignon’s, after dinner, she 
wanted to know what he did in 'the evening, and, 
looking at her fixedly, he replied : “ That depends ; 
sometimes I go to the theatre.” “ Very well, then. 
Monsieur; let us go to the theatre.” 

They went to the Vaudeville with an order, 
thanks to him, and, to her great pride, the whole 
house saw her sitting by his side, in the first bal- 
cony boxes. 

When the play was over he gallantly kissed her 
hand, and said : “ It only remains for me to thank 
you for this delightful day. . . .” But she in- 

terrupted him : “ What do you do at this time 
every night ? ” “ Why . . . why ... I 
go home.” She began to laugh, a little, tremulous 
laugh. “ Very well. Monsieur ... let us go 
to your rooms.” 

They did not say anything more. She shivered 
occasionally, from head to foot, feeling inclined to 
stay and inclined to run away, but with a fixed de- 
termination, after all, to see it out to the end. She 
was so excited that she had to hold on to the rail- 


268 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


ing as she went upstairs, and he came up behind 
her, with a wax match in his hand. 

As soon as they were in the room she undressed 
herself quickly and retired without saying a word, 
and then she waited for him, cowering against the 
wall. But she was as simple as it was possible for 
a provincial lawyer’s wife to be, and he was more 
exacting than a pasha with three tails, and so they 
did not at all understand each other. At last, how- 
ever, he went to sleep, and the night passed, and the 
silence was only disturbed by the tick-tack of the 
clock, and she, lying motionless, thought of her con- 
jugal nights; and by the light of the Chinese lan- 
tern she looked, nearly heartbroken, at the little 
fat man lying on his back, whose round stomach 
raised up the bedclothes like a balloon filled with 
gas. He snored with the noise of a wheezy organ 
pipe, with prolonged snorts and comic chokings. 
His few hairs profited by his sleep to stand up in 
a very strange way, as if they were tired of having 
been fastened for so long to that pate, whose bare- 
ness they were trying to cover, and a small stream 
of saliva was running out of one corner of his half- 
open mouth. 

At last the daylight appeared through the drawn 
blinds; so she got up and dressed herself without 
making any noise, and she had already half opened 
the door when she made the lock creak, and he 
woke up and rubbed his eyes. It was some mo- 
ments before he quite came to himself, and then, 
when he remembered all that had happened, he 
said : “ What ! Are you going already ? ” She 


AN ADVENTURE IN PARIS 


269 


remained standing, in some confusion, and then she 
said, in a hesitating voice: “Yes, of course; it is 
morning. . . 

Then he sat up, and said : “ Look here, I have 
something to ask you, in my turn.” And as she 
did not reply, he went on: “You have surprised 
me most confoundedly since yesterday. Be open, 
and tell me why you did it all, for upon my word 
I cannot understand it in the least.” She went 
close up to him, blushing as if she had been a vir- 
gin, and said : “ I wanted to know . . . what 
. . . what vice . . . really was . . . 
and . . . well . . . well, it is not at all 

funny.” 

And she ran out of the room and downstairs into 
the street. 

A number of sweepers were busy in the streets, 
brushing the pavements, the roadway, and sweep- 
ing everything on one side. With the sarne regular 
motion, the motion of mowers in a meadow, they 
pushed the mud in front of them in a semicircle, 
and she met them in every street, like dancing pup- 
pets, walking automatically with their swaying mo- 
tion. And it seemed to her as if something had 
been swept out of her ; as if her overexcited dreams 
had been pushed into the gutter or into the drain, 
and so she went home, out of breath and very cold, 
and all that she could remember was the sensation 
of the motion of those brooms sweeping the streets 
of Paris in the early morning. 

As soon as she got into her room she threw her- 
self onto her bed, and cried. 


THE BED 


O NE hot afternoon last summer the auctioneer 
was knocking down the various articles in 
a listless manner in the large auction rooms, 
the occupants of which seemed half asleep. In a 
back room, on the first floor, two or three lots of 
old silk ecclesiastical vestments were lying in a cor- 
ner. 

There were copes for solemn occasions, and 
graceful chasubles on which embroidered flowers 
surrounded symbolic letters on a ground which 
had become cream-coloured, although it had 
originally been white. Some second-hand dealers 
were there, two or three men with dirty beards, 
and a large woman with a big stomach, one of 
those women who deal in second-hand finery, and 
who also manage illicit love aflfairs, who are brokers 
in old and young human flesh, just as much as they 
are in new and old clothes. 

Presently a beautiful Louis XV chasuble was put 
up for sale. It was as pretty as the dress of a 
marchioness of that period and had retained all its 
colours. It was embroidered with lilies of the val- 
ley round the cross, and long blue iris, which came 
up to the foot of the sacred emblem, and wreaths 


THE BED 


271 


of roses in the corners. When I had bought it I 
noticed that there was a faint fragrance about it, as 
if it were permeated with the odour of incense, or, 
rather, as if it were still pervaded by those delicate, 
sweet scents of bygone years which seemed to be 
only the memory of perfumes, the soil of evaporated 
essences. 

When I got it home I wished to have a small 
chair of the same period covered with it ; and as 
I was handling it in order to take the necessary 
measures, I felt some paper beneath my fingers, 
and on cutting the lining, some letters fell at my 
feet. They were yellow with age, and the faint ink 
was the colour of rust, and outside the sheet, which 
was folded in the fashion of years long past, it was 
addressed in a delicate hand : 

'‘To Monsieur VAhbe TArgenceT 

The first two letters merely assigned places of 
meeting, but here is the third : 

“ My Friend : I am very unwell, ill in fact, and I can- 
not leave my bed. The rain is beating against my windows, 
and I lie dreaming comfortably and warmly under my 
eiderdown coverlet. I have a book of which I am very 
fond, and which seems as if it really applied to me. Shall 
I tell you what it is? No, for you would only scold me. 
Then, when I have read a little, I begin to think, and will 
tell you what about. 

“ Having been in bed for three days, I think about my 
bed, and even in my sleep I meditate on it still, and I have 
come to the conclusion that the bed constitutes our whole 
life ; for we were born in it, we live in it, and we shall die 
in it. If, therefore, I had Monsieur de Crebillon’s pen, I 
should write the history of a bed, and what exciting and 
terrible as well as delightful, moving occurrences would 
not such a book contain ! What lessons and what subjects 


272 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


for moralizing could one not draw from it, for every one? 

“ You know my bed, my friend, but you will never guess 
how many things I have discovered in it within the last 
three days, and how much more I love it in consequence. 
It seems to me to be inhabited, haunted, if I may say so, 
by a number of people I never thought of, who, neverthe- 
less, have left something of themselves in that couch. 

“ Ah ! I cannot understand people who buy new beds, 
beds to which no memories or cares are attached. Mine, 
ours, which is so shabby and so spacious, must have held 
many existences in it, from birth to the grave. Think of 
that, my friend; think of it all; review all those lives, a 
great part of which was spent between these four posts, 
surrounded by these hangings embroidered by human 
fingers, which have seen so many things. What have they 
seen during the three centuries since they were first put up? 

“ Here is a young woman lying in this bed. 

“ From time to time she sighs, and then she groans and 
cries out ; her mother is with her, and presently a little 
creature that makes a noise like a cat mewing, and which 
is all shrivelled and wrinkled, comes from her. It is a 
male child to which she has given birth, and the young 
mother feels happy in spite of her pain ; she is nearly suffo- 
cated with joy at that first cry, and stretches out her arms, 
and those around her shed tears of pleasure ; for that little 
morsel of humanity which has come from her means the 
continuation of the family, the perpetuation of the blood, 
of the heart, and of the soul of the old people, who are 
looking on, trembling with excitement. 

“ And then, here are two lovers, who for the first time 
are flesh to flesh together in that tabernacle of life. They 
tremble; but, transported with delight, they have the de- 
licious sensation of being close together, and by degrees 
their lips meet. That divine kiss makes them one, that 
kiss which speaks of human delights, which continually 
promises them, announces them, and precedes them. And 
their bed is agitated like the tempestuous sea, and it bends 
and murmurs, and itself seems to become animated and 
joyous, for the maddening mystery of love is being ac- 
complished on it. What is there sweeter, what more per- 
fect in this world than those embraces, which make one 
single being out of two, and which give to both of them 
at the same moment the same thought, the same expecta- 


THE BED 


273 


tion, and the same maddening pleasure, which descends 
upon them like a celestial and devouring fire? 

“ Do you remember those lines from some old poet 
which you read to me last year? I do not remember who 
wrote them, but it may have been Ronsard: 

“‘When you and I in bed shall lie, 

Lascivious we shall be, 

Enlaced, playing a thousand tricks. 

Of lovers, gamesomely/ 

“ I should like to have that verse embroidered on the 
top of my bed, where Pyramus and Thisbe are continually 
looking at me out of their tapestry eyes. 

“ And think of death, my friend, of all those who have 
breathed out their last sigh to God in this bed. For it is 
also the tomb of hopes ended, the door which closes every- 
thing, after having been the one which lets in the world. 
What cries, what anguish, what sufferings, what groans, 
how many arms stretched out toward the past; what ap- 
peals to happiness that has vanished for ever, what con- 
vulsions, what death-rattles, what gaping lips and distorted 
eyes, have there not been in this bed, from which I am 
writing to you, during the three centuries that it has 
sheltered human beings ! 

“ The bed, you must remember, is the symbol of life ; I 
have discovered this within the last three days. There is 
nothing good except the bed, and are not some of our best 
moments spent in sleep ? 

“ But then, again, we suffer in bed ! It is the refuge of 
those who are ill and suffering; a place of repose and com- 
fort for worn-out bodies, and, in a word, the bed is part 
and parcel of humanity. 

“ Many other thoughts have struck me, but I have no 
time to note them down for you, and then, should I remem- 
ber them all? Besides that, I am so tired that I mean to 
retire to my pillows, stretch myself out at full length, and 
sleep a little. But be sure and come to see me at three 
o’clock to-morrow; perhaps I may be better, and able to 
prove it to you. 

“ Good-by, my friend ; here are my hands for you to 
kiss, and I also offer you my lips.” 


THE RIVAL PINS 


A H! my dear fellow, what jades women are!’' 
“ What makes you say that ? ” 

“ Because they have played me an abom- 
inable trick.” 

‘‘You?” 

“ Yes, me.” 

“ Women, or a woman ? ” 

“ Two women.” 

“Two women at once?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What was the trick ? ” 

The two young men were sitting outside a cafe 
on the boulevards drinking liqueurs mixed with 
water, those beverages which look like infusions of 
all the colours in a box of paints. They were nearly 
the same age ; twenty-five to thirty. One was dark 
and the other fair, and they had the same semi- 
elegant look of stockholders, of men who go to the 
Stock Exchange and into drawing-rooms, who are 
to be seen everywhere, who live everywhere, and 
love everywhere. The dark one continued : 

“ I have told you about that little woman, a 
tradesman’s wife, whom I met on the beach at Di- 
eppe ? ” 


THE RIVAL PINS 


275 


‘‘ Ytsr 

“ My dear fellow, you know what it is ; there is 
some one in Paris whom I love dearly, an old 
friend, a good friend, and it has grown into a habit, 
in fact, and I value it very much.” 

“ Your habit.” 

“ Yes, my habit, and hers also. She is married 
to an excellent man, whom I also value very much, 
a very cordial fellow. A capital companion! I 
may say, I think that my life is bound up with that 
house.” 

“ Well?” 

“ Well ! they could not manage to leave Paris, 
and I found myself a widower at Dieppe.” 

“ Why did you go to Dieppe ? ” 

For change of air. One cannot remain on the 
boulevards the whole time.” 

“ And then?” 

“ Then I met the little woman I mentioned to 
you on the beach there.” 

The wife of that head of his public office?” 

‘‘Yes, she was dreadfully dull; her husband only 
came every Sunday, and he is horrible 1 I under- 
stand her perfectly, and we laughed and danced to- 
gether.” 

“ And the rest ? ” 

“ Yes, but that came later. However, we met, 
we liked each other, I told her I liked her, and she 
made me repeat it, so that she might understand it 
better, and she put no obstacles in my way.” 

“ Did you love her? ” 

“ Yes, a little; she is very nice.” 


276 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


'' And what about the other ? ” 

“The other was in Paris! Well, for six weeks 
it was very pleasant, and we returned here on the 
best of terms. Do you know how to break with a 
woman, when that woman has not wronged you in 
any way ? ” 

“ Yes, perfectly well.” 

“ How do you manage it ? ” 

“ I give her up.” 

“ How do you do it ? ” 

“ I do not see her any longer.” 

“ But supposing she comes to you ? ” 

“ I am . . . not at home.” 

“ And if she comes again ? ” 

“ I say I am not well.” 

“ If she looks after you? ” 

“ I play her some dirty trick.” 

“ And if she puts up with it? ” 

“ I write to her husband anonymous letters, so 
that he may look after her on the days that I ex- 
pect her.” 

“ That is serious ! I cannot resist, and do not 
know how to bring about a rupture, and so I have a 
collection of mistresses. There are some whom I 
do not see more than once a year, others every ten 
months, others on those days when they want to 
dine at a restaurant. Those whom I have put at 
regular intervals do not worry me, but I often have 
great difficulty with the fresh ones, so as to keep 
them at proper intervals.” 

“ And then. . . .” 

“ Then this little woman was all fire and flame, 


THE RIVAL PINS 


277 


without any fault of mine, as I told you ! As her 
husband spends the whole day at his office she be- 
gan to come to me unexpectedly, and twice she 
nearly met mv regular one on the stairs.” 

“ The devif! ” 

“Yes; so I gave each of them her Says, regular 
days, to avoid confusion, Saturday and Monday 
for the old one, Tuesday, Friday, and Sunday for 
the new one.” 

“ Why did you show her the preference ? ” 

“ Ah ! My dear friend, she is younger.” 

“ So that only gave you two days to yourself in 
a week.” 

“ That is enough for one.” 

“ Allow me to compliment you on that.” 

“Well, just fancy that the most ridiculous and 
most annoying thing in the world happened to me. 
'For four months everything had been going on per- 
fectly; I felt perfectly safe, and I was really very 
happy, when suddenly, last Monday, the crash 
came. 

“ I was expecting my regular one at the usual 
time, a quarter-past one, and was smoking a good 
cigar and dreaming, very well satisfied with myself, 
when I suddenly saw that it was past the time, at 
which I was much surprised, for she is very punc- 
tual, but I thought that something might have acci- 
dentally delayed her. However, half an hour 
passed, then an hour, an hour and a half, and then 
I knew that something must have detained her; a 
sick headache, perhaps, or some annoying visitor. 
That sort of waiting is very vexatious, that . . . 


278 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


useless waiting . . . very annoying and ener- 

vating. At last, I made up my mind to go out, and, 
not knowing what to do, I went to her and found 
her reading a novel. 

“ ‘ Well,’ I said to her. And she replied quite 
calmly : * 

“ ‘ My dear, I could not come, I was hindered.’ 

“‘How?’ 

“ ‘ By . . . something else.’ 

“ ‘ What was it? ’ 

“ ‘ A very annoying visit.’ 

“ I saw that she would not tell me the true rea- 
son, and as she was very calm, I did not trouble 
myself any more about it, and hoped to make up 
for lost time with the other, the next day, and on 
the Tuesday I was very . . . very excited and 

amorous in expectation of the public official’s little 
wife, and I was surprised that she had not come be-, 
fore the appointed time, and I looked at the clock 
every moment, and watched the hands impatiently, 
but the quarter passed, then the half hour, then two 
o’clock. I could not sit still any longer, and 
walked up and down very soon in great strides, put- 
ting my face against the window and my ears to 
the door, to listen whether she was not coming up- 
stairs. 

“ Half-past two, three o^clock ! I seized my hat 
and rushed to her house. She was reading a novel, 
my dear fellow ! ‘ Well ! ’ I said anxiously, and 

she replied as calmly as usual : ‘ I was hindered, 
and could not come.’ 

‘“By what?’ 


THE RIVAL PINS 


279 


‘‘ ‘ An annoying visit/ 

Of course, I immediately thought that they both 
knew everything, but she seemed so calm and quiet 
that I set aside my suspicions, and thought it was 
only some strange coincidence, as I could not be- 
lieve in such dissimulation on her part, and so, after 
half an hour’s friendly talk, which was, however, 
interrupted a dozen times by her little girl coming 
in and out of the room, I went away, very much an- 
noyed. Just imagine, the next day. . . .” 

“ The same thing happened ? ” 

“ Yes, and the next also. And that went on for 
three weeks without any explanation, without any- 
thing explaining their strange conduct to me, the se- 
cret of which I suspected, however.” 

“They knew everything?” 

“ I should think so, by George ! But how ? Ah ! 
I had a great deal of anxiety before I found it out.” 

“ How did you manage it at last ? ” 

“ From their letters, for on the same day 
they both gave me their dismissal in identical 
terms.” 

“Well?” 

“ This is how it was. . . . You know that 

women always have an array of pins about them. 
I know hairpins, I doubt them, and look after them, 
but the others are much more treacherous, those 
confounded little black-headed pins which look all 
alike to us, great fools that we are, but which they 
can distinguish, just as we can distinguish a horse 
from a dog. 

“ Well, it appears that one day my Minister’s 


28 o 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


little wife left one of those tell-tale instruments 
pinned to the paper, close to my looking-glass. My 
usual one had immediately seen this little black 
speck, no bigger than a flea, and had taken it out 
without saying a word, and then had left one of 
her pins, which was also black, but of a different 
pattern, in the same place. 

“ The next day the Minister’s wife wished to 
recover her property, and immediately recognized 
the substitution. Then her suspicions were aroused, 
and she put in two and crossed them, and my origi- 
nal one replied to this telegraphic signal by three 
black pellets, one on the top of the other, and as 
soon as this method had begun, they continued to 
communicate with one another, without saying a 
word, only to spy on each other. Then it appears 
that the regular one, being bolder, wrapped a tiny 
piece of paper round the little wire point, and wrote 
upon it : ‘ C. D., Poste Restante, Boulevard Mal- 
herbes.’ 

“ Then they wrote to each other. You understand 
that was not everything that passed between them. 
They set to work with precaution, with a thousand 
stratagems, with all the prudence that is necessary 
in such cases, but the regular one did a bold stroke, 
and made an appointment with the other. I do not 
know what they said to each other ; all that I know 
is that I had to pay the costs of their interview. 
There you have it all ! ” 

“ Is that all?” 

“ Yes.” 

” And you do not see them any more?” 


THE RIVAL PINS 


281 

“ I beg your pardon. I see them as friends, for 
we have not quarrelled altogether.” 

“ And have they met again ? ” 

“ Yes, my dear fellow, they have become inti- 
mate friends.^ 

“ And has not that given you an idea? ” 

“ No. What idea? ” 

“You great booby! The idea of making them 
put back the pins where they found them.” 


THE TWENTY-FIVE FRANCS OF THE 
MOTHER SUPERIOR 


H e certainly was a comical object, Daddy 
Pavilly, with his long spider legs, his little 
body, his long arms, and his head going up 
in a point and surmounted by a tuft of flaming red 
hair. 

He was a clown, a peasant clown, a humourist, 
born to play tricks, to make people laugh, to act 
parts, simple parts, as he was a peasant’s son and 
was himself a peasant who could scarcely read. 
Yes! God had certainly created him to amuse 
others, the poor country devils who have neither 
theatres nor fetes, and he amused them conscien- 
tiously. In the cafe people treated him to drinks 
in order to keep him there, and he drank intrepidly, 
laughing and joking, teasing everybody without 
making any one angry, while the people were 
laughing heartily around him. 

He was so droll that the very girls could not re- 
sist him, ugly as he was, because he made them 
laugh so. He would drag them about, joking all 
the while, and he tickled and squeezed them, saying 
such funny things that they held their sides while 
they pushed him away. 


THE TWENTY-FIVE FRANCS 


283 


Toward the end of June he engaged himself as 
a harvest hand to farmer Le Harivau, near Rou- 
ville. For three whole weeks he amused the har- 
vesters, male and female, by his jokes, both by day 
and night. During the day, when he was in the 
fields, he wore an old straw hat which hid his red 
shock of hair, and one saw him gathering up the 
yellow grain and tying it into bundles with his long, 
thin arms, and then suddenly stopping to make a 
funny gesture which made the labourers laugh all 
over the field. At night he crept in among the 
straw in the barn where the women slept, causing 
screams and exciting a disturbance. They drove 
him off with their wooden sabots, and he escaped on 
all fours, like a fantastic monkey, amid volleys of 
laughter from all assembled. 

On the last day as the wagon full of reapers, 
decked with ribbons and playing bagpipes, shouting 
and singing with pleasure and drink, went along 
the white highroad, slowly drawn by six dapple- 
gray horses, driven by a lad in a smock, with a 
rosette in his cap, Pavilly, in the midst of the 
sprawling women, danced like a drunken satyr, and 
kept the little dirty-faced boys and astonished peas- 
ants standing staring at him open-mouthed on the 
way to the farm. 

Suddenly, as they got to the gate of Le Hari- 
vau’s farmyard, he gave a leap, lifting up his arms, 
but unfortunately, as he came down, he knocked 
against the side of the long wagon, fell over it onto 
the wheel, and rebounded into the road. His com- 
panions jumped out, but he did not move; one eye 


284 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


was closed, while the other was open, and he was 
pale with fear, while his long limbs were stretched 
out in the dust. When they touched his right leg 
he began to scream, and when they tried to make 
him stand up, he immediately fell down. 

“ I think one of his legs is broken,” one of the 
men said. 

And so it really was. Harivau, therefore, had 
him laid on a table and sent off a man on horseback 
to Rouville to fetch the doctor, who came an hour 
later. 

The farmer was very generous and said that he 
would pay for the man’s treatment in the hospital; 
so the doctor carried Pavilly off in his carriage to 
the hospital, and had him put into a whitewashed 
ward, where the fracture was reduced. 

As soon as he knew that it would not kill him 
and that he would be taken care of, coddled, cured, 
and fed without having anything to do except to lie 
on his back between the sheets, Pavilly’s joy was 
unbounded, and he began to laugh silently and con- 
tinuously, showing his decayed teeth. 

Whenever one of the Sisters of Mercy came near 
his bed he made grimaces of satisfaction, winking, 
twisting his mouth awry, and moving his nose, 
which was very long and mobile. His neighbours 
in the ward, ill as they were, could not help laugh- 
ing, and the Mother Superior often came to his 
bedside to be amused for a quarter of an hour. He 
invented all kinds of jokes and stories for her, and 
as he had the making of an actor in him, he would 
be devout in order to please her, and spoke of re- 


^ THE TWENTY-FIVE FRANCS 285 

ligion with the serious air of a man who knows that 
there are times when jokee are out of place. 

One day he took it into his head to sing to her. 
She was delighted and came to see him more fre- 
quently, and then she brought him a hymn-book, so 
as to utilize his voice. Then he might be seen sit- 
ting up in bed, for he was beginning to be able to 
move, singing the praises of the Almighty and of 
Mary, in a falsetto voice, while the kind, stout sister 
stood by him and beat time with her finger. When 
he could walk the Superior offered to keep him for 
some time longer to sing in chapel, to serve at mass, 
and to fulfil the duties of sacristan, and he accepted. 
For a whole month he might be seen in his surplice, 
limping along, and singing the psalms and the re- 
sponses, with such impressive movements of the 
head that the number of the faithful increased, and 
people deserted the parish church to attend vespers 
at the hospital. 

But, as everything must come to an end in this 
world, they were obliged to discharge him, when 
he was quite cured, and the Superior gave him 
twenty-five francs in return for his services. 

As soon as Pavilly found himself in the street 
with all that money in his pocket he asked himself 
what he was going to do. Should he return to the 
village? Certainly not before having a drink, for 
he had not had one for a long time, and so he went 
into a cafe. He did not go into the town more than 
two or three times a year, and he had a confused 
and intoxicating recollection of an orgie on one of 
those visits in particular. He asked for a glass of 


286 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


the best brandy, which he swallowed at a gulp to 
prepare the way, and then he had another to see 
how it tasted. 

As soon as the strong and fiery brandy had 
touched his palate and tongue, awakening more viv- 
idly than ever the sensation of alcohol of which he 
was so fond, which soothes, and stings, and burns 
the mouth, he knew that he should drink a whole 
bottle of it, and he asked what it cost, so as to get 
it more cheaply than in single drinks. They charged 
him three francs, which he paid, and then he began 
quietly to get drunk. 

However, he had some method in it, as he wished 
to keep sober enough for other pleasures, and so, 
as soon as he felt that he was on the point of seeing 
the chimneys bowing to him, he got up and went 
out with unsteady steps, with his bottle under his 
arm, in search of a house of amusement. 

He found one, with some difficulty, after having 
asked a carter, who did not know of one; a post- 
man, who directed him wrong; a baker, who began 
to swear and called him an old pig; and, lastly, a 
soldier, who was obliging enough to take him to 
one, and advised him to choose La Reine. 

Although it was barely twelve o’clock, Pavilly 
went into that palace of delights, where he was re- 
ceived by a servant, who wanted to turn him out 
again. But he made her laugh by making a 
grimace, showed her three francs, the usual price of 
the special entertainment of the place, and followed 
her with difficulty up a dark staircase, which led to 
the first floor. 


THE TWENTY-FIVE FRANCS 


287 


When he had been shown into a room he asked 
for La Reine, and had another drink out of the bot- 
tle while he waited. But very shortly the door 
opened and a girl came in. She was tall, fat, red- 
faced, enormous. She looked at the drunken fel- 
low, who had fallen into a seat, with the eye of a 
judge of such matters, and said: 

“ Are you not ashamed of yourself at this time 
of day ? ” 

Ashamed of what. Princess ? ” he stammered. 

“ Why, of disturbing a lady before she has even 
had time to eat her dinner.” 

He wanted to have a joke, so he said; 

“ There is no such thing as time for the brave.” 

And there ought to be no time for getting 
drunk, either, old guzzler.” 

At this he got angry : 

I am not a guzzler, and I am not drunk.” 

‘‘Not drunk?” 

“ No, I am not.” 

“Not drunk? Why, you could not even stand 
up straight ; ” and she looked at him with the 
angry look of a woman who is disturbed at her 
dinner. 

I ... I could dance a polka,” he replied, 
getting up on a chair to show how steady he was; 
and twirling round, he jumped onto the bed, where 
his thick, muddy shoes made two great marks. 

“ Oh ! you dirty brute ! ” cried the girl, rushing 
at him, striking him such a blow in the stomach 
with her clinched fist that Pavilly lost his balance, 
fell and struck the foot of the bed, and, turning a 


288 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


complete somersault, tumbled on to the washstand, 
and, dragging the pitcher and basin with him, then 
rolled to the ground, roaring. 

The noise was so loud and his cries so piercing 
that everybody in the house rushed in, the master, 
mistress, servant, and the staff. 

The master of the house attempted to lift him 
up, but as soon as he stood him on his feet the 
peasant lost his balance again, and then began to 
cry out that his leg was broken, the other leg, the 
sound one. 

It was true, so they sent for a doctor, and it hap- 
pened to be the same one who had attended him at 
Le Harivau’s. 

What ! Is it you again ? ” he said. 

Yes, Monsieur.” 

“ What is the matter with you ? ” 

“ Somebody has broken my other leg for me, 
Monsieur.” 

Who did it, old fellow?” 

“ Why, a female.” 

Everybody was listening. The girls in their 
dressing-gowns, with their mouths still greasy 
from their interrupted dinner, the mistress of the 
house furious, the master nervous. 

“ This will be a bad job,” the doctor said. ** You 
know that the municipal authorities look upon you 
with very unfavourable eyes. We must try and 
hush the matter up.” 

“ What can we do ? ” the master of the place 
asked. 

'' Why, the best way would be to send him back to 


THE TWENTY-FIVE FRANCS 289 

the hospital, from which he has just been dis- 
charged, and to pay for him there.” 

“ I would rather do that,” the master of the 
house replied, “ than have any fuss made about the 
matter.” 

So half an hour later Pavilly returned drunk and 
groaning to the ward which he had left an hour be- 
fore. The Superior raised her arms to express her 
sorrow, for she liked him, and her face beamed, for 
she was not sorry to see him again. 

” Well, my good fellow, what is the matter with 
you now ? ” 

The other leg is broken, Madame.” 

“ So you have been riding on another straw 
wagon, you old joker?” 

And Pavilly, sullen and confused, stammered: 

No . . . no. . . . Not this time, no 
. . . not this time. No ... no. . . It was 
not my fault, not my fault. . . It was a straw 

mattress.” 

She could get no other explanation out of him, 
and never knew that his relapse was due to her 
twenty-five francs. 


THE CONFESSION 


M onsieur de champdelin had no 

reason to complain of his lot as a married 
man ; nor could he accuse destiny of having 
played him a bad turn, as it does so many others, 
for it would have been difficult to find a more de- 
sirable, a merrier, prettier little woman, one who 
was easier to amuse and to guide, than his wife. 
To see the large, limpid eyes which lighted up her 
fair, girlish face, one would think that her mother 
must have spent whole nights before her birth in 
looking dreamily at the stars, and so had become, 
as it were, impregnated with their magic bright- 
ness. And one did not know which to prefer — her 
bright, silky hair or her slightly retrousse nose, 
with its vibrating nostrils, her red lips, which 
looked as alluring as a ripe peach, her beautiful 
shoulders, her delicate ears, which resembled 
mother-of-pearl, or her slim waist and rounded 
figure, which would have delighted and tempted a 
sculptor. 

And then she was always merry, overflowing 
with youth and life, never dissatisfied, only wishing 
to enjoy herself, to laugh, to love and be loved, and 
putting all the house into a tumult, as if it were a 
great cage full of birds. In spite of all this, how- 


THE CONFESSION 


291 


ever, that worn-out fool, Champdelin, had never 
cared much about her, but had left that charming 
garden lying waste, and almost immediately after 
their honeymoon he had resumed his usual bachelor 
habits, and had begun to lead the same fast life 
that he had done of old. 

It was stronger than be, for his was one of those 
libertine natures which are constant targets for 
love, and which never resign themselves to domes- 
tic peace and happiness. The last woman he came 
across, in a love adventure, was always the one 
whom he loved best. The mere contact with a pet- 
ticoat inflamed him and made him commit the most 
imprudent actions. 

As he was not hard to please, he fished, as it 
were, in troubled waters, went after the ugly ones 
and the pretty ones alike, was bold even to impu- 
dence, was not to be discouraged by mistakes, nor 
anger, nor modesty, nor threats, though he some- 
times fell into a trap and got a thrashing from 
some relative or jealous lover; he withstood all 
attempts to get blackmail from him, and became 
only more . enamoured of vice and more ardent in 
his lures and pursuit of love affairs on that 
account. 

But the workgirls and the shopgirls and all the 
tradesmen’s wives in Saint Martejoux knew him, 
and made him pay for their whims and their co- 
quetry, and had to put up with his lovemaking. 
Many of them smiled or blushed when they saw 
him under the tall plane trees in the public gar- 
den or met him in the unfrequented narrow streets 


292 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


near the Cathedral, with his thin, sensual face, 
whose looks had something satyr-like about them, 
and some of them used to laugh at him and make 
fun of him, though they ran away when he went 
up to them. And when some friend who was sorry 
that he could forget himself so far would say to 
him, when he was at a loss for any other argument : 
“And your wife, Champdelin? Are you not 
afraid that she will have her revenge and pay you 
out in your own coin ? ” his only reply was a con- 
temptuous and incredulous shrug of the shoulders. 

She deceive him, indeed; she, who was as de- 
vout, as virtuous, and as ignorant of forbidden 
things as a nun, who cared no more for love than 
she did for an old slipper ! She, who did not even 
venture on any veiled allusions, who was always 
laughing, who took life as it came, who performed 
her religious duties with edifying assiduity, she to 
pay him back, so as to make him look ridiculous, 
and to gad about at night? Never! Any one who 
could think such a thing must have lost his senses. 

However, one summer day, when the roofs all 
seemed red-hot and the whole town appeared dead. 
Monsieur de Champdelin had followed two milli- 
ner’s girls, with bandboxes in their hands, from 
street to street, whispering nonsense to them and 
promising beforehand to give them anything they 
asked him for, and had gone after them as far as 
the Cathedral. In their fright they took refuge 
there, but he followed them in, and, emboldened 
by the solitude of the nave and by the perfect si- 
lence in the building, he became more enterprising 


THE CONFESSION 


293 


and bolder. They did not know how to protect 
themselves or to escape from him, and were trem- 
bling at his daring attempts and at his kisses, when 
he saw a confessional whose doors were open in 
one of the side chapels. “ We should be much 
more comfortable in there, my little dears,” he said, 
going into it as if to get such an unexpected nest 
ready for them. 

But they were quicker than he, and, throwing 
themselves against the grated door, they pushed 
it to before he could turn round, and locked him 
in. At first he thought it was only a joke, and it 
amused him ; but when they began to laugh and put 
out their tongues at him, as if he had been a mon- 
key in a cage, and overwhelm him with insults, he 
first of all grew angry, and then humble, offering 
to pay well for his ransom, and he implored them 
to let him out, and tried to escape, like a mouse out 
of a trap. They, however, did not appear to hear 
him, but roguishly bowed to him ceremoniously, 
wished him good night, and ran out as fast as they 
could. 

Champdelin was in despair; he did not know 
what to do, and cursed his bad luck. What would 
be the end of it? Who would deliver him from 
that kind of prison, and was he going to remain 
there all the afternoon and night, like a portman- 
teau in a lost-baggage office? He could not man- 
age to force the lock, and did not venture to knock 
hard against the sides of the confessional, for fear 
of attracting the attention of some beadle or sac- 
ristan. Oh! those wretched girls, and how people 


294 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


would make fun of him, and write verses about 
him, and point their fingers at him, if the joke 
were discovered and noised abroad ! 

By and by he heard the faint sound of prayers 
in the distance, and through the green serge cur- 
tain that concealed him, Monsieur Champdelin 
heard the rattle of beads on the rosaries, as the 
women repeated their Ave Maria, and the rustle 
of dresses and the noise of footsteps on the pave- 
ment. 

Suddenly he felt a tickling in his throat that 
nearly choked him, and he could not prevent a fit 
of coughing, and when it was over the unfortunate 
man was horrified at hearing some one come into 
the chapel and up to the confessional. Whoever it 
was knelt down and gave a discreet knock at the 
grating which separated the priest from his peni- 
tents, so he quickly put on the surplice and stole, 
which were hanging on a nail, and, covering his 
face with his handkerchief and sitting back in the 
shadow, he opened the grating. 

It was a woman, who was already murmuring a 
prayer, and he gave the responses as well as he 
could, from his boyish recollections, and was some- 
what agitated by the delicious perfume that ema- 
nated from her half-raised veil and from her 
bodice; but at her first words he started so that 
he almost fainted. He had recognized his wife’s 
voice, and it felt to him as if his seat were studded 
with sharp nails, as if the sides of the confessional 
were closing in on him, and as if* the air were 
growing rarefied. 


THE CONFESSION 


295 


He collected himself, however, and, regaining 
his self-possession, listened to what she had to say 
with increasing curiosity, and with some uncertain 
and necessary interruptions. The young woman 
sighed, was evidently keeping back something, 
spoke about her unhappiness, her melancholy life, 
her husband’s neglect, the temptations by which 
she was surrounded and which she found it so dif- 
ficult to resist; her conscience seemed to be bur- 
dened by an intolerable weight, though she hesi- 
tated to accuse herself directly. And in a low 
voice, with unctuous and coaxing tones, and mas- 
tering himself, Champdelin said : 

“ Courage, my child ; tell me everything ; the di- 
vine mercy is infinite; tell me all, without hesita- 
tion.” 

Then, all at once, she told him everything that 
was troubling her; how passion and desire had 
thrown her into the arms of one of her husband’s 
best friends, the exquisite happiness that they felt 
when they met every day, his delightful tenderness, 
which she could no longer resist, the sin which was 
her joy, her only object, her consolation, her 
dream. She grew excited, sobbed, seemed ener- 
vated and exhausted, as if she were still burning 
from her lover’s kisses, hardly seemed to know 
what she was saying, and begged for temporary 
absolution from her sins. Champdelin, in his ex- 
asperation, and unable to restrain himself any 
longer, interrupted her in a furious voice : 

“ Oh ! no ! Oh ! no ; this is not at all funny 
. . . keep such things to yourself, my dear I ” 


296 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


Poor little Madame de Champdelin nearly went 
out of her mind with fright and astonishment, and 
they are now waiting for the decree which will 
break their chains and let them part. 


A FATHER S CONFESSION 


A ll Veziers-le-Rethel had followed the fu- 
neral procession of M. Badon-Leremince to 
the grave, and the last words of the funeral 
oration pronounced by the delegate of the district 
remained in the minds of all : He was an honest 
man, at least ! ” 

An honest man he had been in all the known acts 
of his life, in his words, in his examples, his atti- 
tude, his behaviour, his enterprises, in the cut of 
his beard and the shape of his hats. He never had 
said a word that did not set an example, never had 
given an alms without adding a word of advice, 
never had extended his hand without appearing to 
bestow a benediction. 

He left two children, a boy and a girl. His son 
was Counsellor General, and his daughter, having 
married a lawyer, M. Poirel de la Voulte, moved in 
the best society of Veziers. 

They were inconsolable at the death of their 
father, for they loved him sincerely. 

As soon as the ceremony was over the son, 
daughter, and son-in-law returned to the house of 
mourning, and, shutting themselves in the library, 
they opened the will, the seals of which were to be 


298 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


broken by them alone and only after the coffin had 
been placed in the ground. This wish was ex- 
pressed by a notice on the envelope. 

M. Poirel de la Voulte tore open the envelope, in 
his character of a lawyer used to such operations, 
and having adjusted his spectacles, he read in a 
monotonous voice, made for reading the details of 
contracts : 

“ My children, my dear children, I could not sleep the 
eternal sleep in peace if I did not make to you from the 
tomb a confession, the confession of a crime, remorse for 
which has ruined my life. Yes, I committed a crime, a 
frightful, abominable crime. 

“I was twenty-six years old, and I had just been called 
to the bar in Paris, and was living the life of young men 
from the provinces who are stranded in this town without 
acquaintances, relatives, or friends. 

“ I took a sweetheart. There are beings who cannot live 
alone. I was one of those. Solitude fills me with horrible 
anguish, the solitude of my room beside my fire in the 
evening. I feel then as if I were alone on earth, alone, but 
surrounded by vague dangers, unknown and terrible things ; 
and the partition that separates me from my neighbour, my 
neighbour whom I do not know, keeps me at as great a dis- 
tance from him as the stars that I see through my window. 
A sort of fever pervades me, a fever of impatience and of 
fear, and the silence of the walls terrifies me. The silence 
of a room where one lives alone is so intense and so 
melancholy! It is not only a silence of the mind; when a 
piece of furniture cracks a shudder goes through you, for 
you expect no noise in this melancholy abode. 

“ How many times, nervous and timid from this motion- 
less silence, I have begun to talk, to repeat words without 
rhyme or reason, only to make some sound. My voice at 
those times sounds so strange that I am afraid of that, 
too. Is there anything more dreadful than talking to 
one’s self in an empty house? One’s voice sounds like that 
of another, an unknown voice talking aimlessly, to no one, 
into the empty air, with no ear to listen to it, for one 


A father’s confession 


299 


knows before they escape into the solitude of the room 
exactly what words will be uttered. And when they re- 
sound lugubriously in the silence, they seem no more than 
an echo, the peculiar echo of words whispered by one’s 
thought. 

“ My sweetheart was a young girl like other young girls 
who live in Paris on wages that are insufficient to keep 
^hem. She was gentle, good, simple. Her parents lived 
at Poissy. She went to spend several days with them from 
time to time. 

“ For a year I lived quietly with her, fully decided to 
leave her when I should find some one whom I liked well 
enough to marry. I would make a little provision for this 
one, for it is an understood thing in our social set that a 
woman’s love should be paid for, in money if she is poor, 
in presents if she is rich. 

“ But one day she told me she was enceinte. I was 
thunderstruck, and saw in a second that my life would be 
ruined. I saw the fetter that I should wear until my 
death, everywhere, in my future family life, in my old 
age, forever; the fetter of a woman bound to my life 
through a child ; the fetter of the child whom I must 
bring up, watch over, protect, while keeping myself un- 
known to him, and keeping him hidden from the world. 
I was greatly disturbed at this news, and a confused long- 
ing, a criminal desire, surged through my mind; I did not 
formulate it, but I felt it in my heart, ready to come to 
the surface, as if some one hidden behind a portiere should 
await the signal to come out. If some accident might only 
happen ! So many of these little things die before they are 
born ! 

“ Oh, I did not wish my sweetheart to die ! The poor 
girl, I loved her very much! But I wished, possibly, that 
the child might die before I saw it. 

“ He was born. I set up housekeeping in my little 
bachelor apartment, an imitation home, with a horrible 
child. He looked like all children; I did not care for him. 
Fathers, you see, do not show affection until later. They 
have not the instinctive and passionate tenderness of 
mothers; their affection has to be awakened gradually, 
their mind must become attached by bonds formed each 
day between beings that live in each other’s society. 

“ A year passed. I now avoided my home, which was 
too small, where soiled linen, baby-clothes, and stockings 


300 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


the size of gloves Avere lying round, where a thousand 
articles of all descriptions lay on the furniture, on the arm 
of an easy-chair, everywhere. I went out chiefly that I 
might not hear the child cry, for he cried on the slightest 
pretext, when he was bathed, when he was touched, when 
he was put to bed, when he was taken up in the morning, 
incessantly. 

“ I had made a few acquaintances, and I met at a re- 
ception the woman who was to be your mother. I fell in 
love with her and became desirous to marry her. I courted 
her ; I asked her parents’ consent to our marriage, and it 
was granted. 

“ I found myself in this dilemma ; I must either marry 
this young girl whom I adored, having a child already; or 
else tell the truth, and renounce her, and happiness, my 
future, everything ; for her parents, who were people of 
rigid principles, would not give her to me if they knew. 

“ I passed a month of horrible anguish, of mortal tor- 
ture, a month haunted by a thousand frightful thoughts; 
and I felt developing in me a hatred toward my son, to- 
ward that little morsel of living, screaming flesh, who 
blocked my path, interrupted my life, condemned me to an 
existence without hope, without all those vague expecta- 
tions that make the charm of youth. 

“But just then my companion’s mother became ill, and I 
was left alone with the child. 

“ It was in December, and the weather was terribly cold. 
What a night! My companion had just left. I had dined 
alone in my little dining room, and I went gently into the 
room where the little one was asleep. 

“ I sat down in an armchair before the fire. The wind 
was blowing, making the windows rattle, a dry, frosty 
wind ; and I saw through the window the stars shining 
with that piercing brightness that they have on frosty 
nights. 

“ Then the idea that had obsessed me for a month rose 
again to the surface. As soon as I was quiet it came to 
me and harassed me. It ate into my mind like a fixed 
idea, just as cancers must eat into t^''e flpsb. It was there, 
in my head, in my heart, in my whole body, it seemed to 
me; and it swallowed me up as a wild beast might have. 
I endeavoured to drive it away, to ’-enulse it. to open my 
mind to other thoughts, as one opens a window to the 
fresh morning breeze to drive out the vitiated night air; 


A father’s confession 


301 


but I could not drive it from my brain, not even for a 
second. I do not know how to express this torture. It 
gnawed at my soul; and I felt a frightful pain, a real 
physical and moral pain. 

“ My life was ruined ! How could I escape from this 
situation? How could I draw back, and how could I 
confess? 

“ And I loved the one who was to become your mother 
with a mad passion, which this insurmountable obstacle 
only aggravated. 

“ A terrible rage was taking possession of me, choking 
me, a rage that verged on madness! Surely I was crazy 
that evening! 

“ The child was sleeping. I got up and looked at it as 
it slept. It was he, this abortion, this spawn, this nothing, 
that condemned me to irremediable unhappiness ! 

“ He was asleep, his mouth open, wrapped in his bed- 
clothes, in a crib beside my bed, where I — I could not 
sleep. 

“How did I ever do what I did? How do I know? 
What force urged me on, what malevolent power took pos- 
session of me? Oh, the temptation to crime came to me 
without any forewarning. All I recall is that my heart 
beat tumultuously. It beat so hard that I could hear it, 
as one hears the strokes of a hammer behind a partition. 
That is all I can recall — the beating of my heart! In my 
head there was a strange confusion, a tumult, a senseless 
disorder, a lack of presence of mind. It was one of those 
hours of bewilderment and hallucination when a man is 
neither conscious of his actions, nor able to guide his will. 

“ I gently raised the coverings from the body of the 
child; I turned them down to the foot of the crib, and he 
lay there uncovered and naked. 

“ He did not wake. Then I went toward the window, 
softly, quite softly, and I opened it. 

“ A breath of icy air glided in like an assassin ; it was 
so cold that I drew aside, and the two candles flickered. I 
remained standing near the window, not daring to turn 
ronnd, as if for fear of seeing what was going on behind 
me, and feeling the icy air passing continually across my 
forehead, my cheeks, my hands, the deadly air which kept 
streaming in. I stood there a long time. 

“ I was not thinking, I was not reflecting. All at once a 
little cough caused me to shudder frightfully from head to 


302 GUY DE MAUPASSANT 

foot, a shudder that I feel still to the roots of my hair. 
And with a frantic movement I abruptly closed both sides 
of the window, and turning round ran over to the crib. 

“ He was still asleep, his mouth open, quite naked. I 
touched his legs; they were icy cold, and I covered them 
up. 

“ My heart was suddenly touched, grieved, filled with 
pity, tenderness, love for this poor innocent being that I 
had wished to kill. I kissed his fine, soft hair long and 
tenderly; then I went and sat down before the fire. 

“ I reflected with amazement, with horror on what I had 
done, asking myself whence come those tempests of the 
soul in which a man loses all perspective of things, all 
command over himself, and acts as in a condition of mad 
intoxication, not knowing whither he is going — like a ves- 
sel in a hurricane. 

“ The child coughed again, and it gave my heart a 
wrench. Suppose it should die! O God! O God! What 
would become of me? 

“ I rose from my chair to go and look at him, and 
with a candle in my hand I leaned over him. Seeing him 
breathing quietly I felt reassured, when he coughed a third 
time. It gave me such a shock that I started backward, 
just as one does at sight of something horrible, and let 
my candle fall. 

“ As I stood erect after picking it up, I noticed that my 
temples were bathed in perspiration, that cold sweat which 
is the result of anguish of soul. And I remained until 
daylight bending over my son, becoming calm when he 
remained quiet for some time, and filled with atrocious 
pain when a weak cough came from his mouth. 

“ He awoke with his eyes red, his throat choked, and 
with an air of suffering. 

“ When the woman came in to arrange my room I sent 
her at once for a doctor. He came at the end of an hour, 
and said, after examining the child: 

“‘Did he not catch cold?’ 

“ I began to tremble like a person with palsy, and I 
faltered : 

“‘No, I do not think so.’ 

“ And then I said : 

“‘What is the matter? Is it serious?’ 

“ ‘ I do not know yet,’ he replied. ‘ I will come again 
this evening.’ 


A father’s confession 


303 


“ He came that evening. My son had remained almost 
all day in a condition of drowsiness, coughing from time 
to time. During the night inflammation of the lungs set 
in. 

“ That lasted ten days. I cannot express what I suffered 
in those interminable hours that divide morning from night, 
night from morning. 

“ He died ... 

“ And since . . . since that moment, I have not 
passed one hour, not a single hour, without the frightful, 
burning recollection, a gnawing recollection, a memory 
that seems to wring my heart, awaking in me like a savage 
beast imprisoned in the depths of my soul. 

“ Oh ! if I could have gone mad !” 

M. Poirel de la Voulte raised his spectacles with 
a motion that was peculiar to him whenever he fin- 
ished reading a contract ; and the three heirs of the 
defunct looked at one another without speaking, 
pale and motionless. 

At the end of a minute the lawyer resumed : 

“ That must be destroyed.” 

The other two bent their heads in sign of assent. 
He lighted a candle, carefully separated the pages 
containing the damaging confession from those re- 
lating to the disposition of money, then he held 
them over the candle and threw them into the fire. 

And they watched the white sheets as they 
burned, till they were presently reduced to little 
crumbling black heaps. And as some words were 
still visible in white tracing, the daughter, with lit- 
tle strokes of the toe of her shoe, crushed the burn- 
ing paper, mixing it with the old ashes in the fire. 

Then all three stood there watching it for some 
time, as if they feared that the destroyed secret 
might escape from the fireplace. 


HOPE 


I HAD stopped at Barvilier solely because I had 
read in a guide-book (I have forgotten which 
one) : “ Fine museum, two Rubens, one Te- 

niers, one Ribera.” 

I said to myself : “ Let us see this. I can dine 
at the Hotel de I’Europe, which is recommended by 
the book as being excellent, and I can leave the 
following day.” 

The museum was closed; it is opened only at 
the request of travellers; it was, therefore, opened 
at my request, and I was able to observe a few 
daubs, attributed by some conservative fantastic to 
the first masters of painting. 

Then I found myself alone and, as I had abso- 
lutely nothing to do, I walked along the main street 
of this little town and looked at a few of the shops ; 
then, at about four o’clock, I was seized by one 
of those fits of discouragement that madden the 
most energetic. 

What could I do? Heavens, what could I do? 
I would have paid five hundred francs for some- 
thing to distract my mind ! As I could think of 
nothing, I decided simply to smoke a good cigar, 
and I looked for the tobacco-shop. I soon recog- 


HOPE 


305 


nized it by the red lantern, and I entered. The 
woman held out a few boxes for me to choose from. 
After I had looked at the cigars, which I judged 
to be frightful, I happened to observe the owner. 

She was a woman of about forty-five, gray- 
haired and robust. She had a well-filled-out figure 
and a respectable look in which I seemed to find 
something familiar. But I could not know this 
lady. No, assuredly I did not know her. But was 
it not just possible that I might have met her? Yes, 
that might be ! This face was certainly familiar to 
my eye, perhaps some old acquaintance lost sight 
of, changed, and undoubtedly enormously filled out 
since I had last seen her. 

I murm.ured : Excuse me, Madame, for ex- 

amining you thus, but it seems as if I have known 
you for a long time.” 

She replied, blushing : “ That’s strange . . . 

I feel the same way.” 

I cried out : “ Ah ! it’s Hope ! ” 

She raised her hands in comical despair, fright- 
ened by this word and stammering : “ Oh ! oh ! if 

you were to be heard ! ” Then suddenly she in 
turn exclaimed : Why, isn’t that you, Georges ? ” 

Then she looked around to make sure that no one 
had heard us. But we were alone, quite alone. 

Hope ! how had I been able to recognize Hope, 
poor Hope, thin Hope, the despairing Hope, in this 
placid and plump government employee? 

Hope ! What memories suddenly awoke within 
me : Bougival, La Grenouillere, Chatou, the 

Restaurant Fournaise, the long boating trips along 


306 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


the banks of the river; ten years of my life spent 
in that corner of the world, on that delightful 
stream. 

There were twelve of us then, living in the Galo- 
pois house at Chatou. We were always half naked 
and tipsy. The customs of the present-day boatmen 
have greatly changed. These gentlemen now wear 
monocles. Now, our troop had a dozen or so of 
regular or irregular boatwomen. On some Sun- 
days we had four of them, on others we had the 
whole lot. Some of them practically lived with us 
and others only came when they had nothing better 
to do. Five or six of them lived openly at the ex- 
pense of any unmarried man — among them was 
Hope. 

She was a poor, thin girl who limped. This in- 
firmity gave her the gait of a grasshopper. She 
was timid and clumsy in everything she did. She 
would timidly take up the humblest, quietest, and 
poorest of us and keep him for a day or a month, 
according to his means. Nobody could remember 
how she happened among us. Had we picked her 
up during one of our carousals at the Boatman’s 
Ball and carried her along with us, as we often 
did? Had we, perhaps, invited her to luncheon 
when we saw her sitting alone at a little table 
in the corner? None of us would have been able 
to say; but one thing was certain — she was one 
of us. 

We had christened her “Hope,” because she was 
always complaining of fate and of her hard luck. 
Every Sunday some one would ask her : “ Well, 


HOPE 


307 


Hope, how are things going with you ? ” And she 
would invariably answer : “ None too well now, but 
let’s hope that they’ll get better some day.” 

How had this poor, homely, clumsy creature 
come to take up the profession that demands such a 
high degree of gracefulness, tact, cunning, and 
beauty? It was a mystery. Paris is full of this 
kind of girls, who are homely enough to frighten 
away a gendarme. 

What was her occupation during the six week- 
days ? Several times she had told us that she 
worked — but at what? We did not know; we were 
indifferent to her existence. 

Then, little by little, I had lost sight of her. Our 
group slowly scattered, giving way to another gene- 
ration, to which we left Hope. I heard this while 
taking luncheon at Fournaise, as I did from time 
to time. 

Finally, after all these years, I found her presid- 
ing over a tobacco-stand in Barvilier. 

Well, how is everything going now ? ” I said 
to her. 

A little better,” she answered. 

I was seized with a curiosity to know the life of 
this woman. Formerly I never should have thought 
of such a thing ; now I felt interested, attracted, and 
I asked her : How did this good luck come to 

you ? ” 

I don’t know ; it came to me when I was least 
expecting it.” 

Did it come as a result of your trips to Cha- 
tou?” 


3o8 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


>d “Oh, no!’» 

“Where?” - 

“ At Paris, in the house where I lived.” 

“Ah! Were you not working in Paris?” 

“ Yes, with Madame Ravelet.” 

“ Who is Madame Ravelet ? ” 

“ You don’t know who Madame Ravelet is?” 

“ No.” 

“ The milliner, the big milliner of the Rue de 
Rivoli.” 

Then she began to tell me a thousand and one 
things of her old life, secrets of Parisian life, of 
the interior of a milliner’s establishment, the life 
of the girls, their adventures, their ideas, the whole 
story of the heart of a working-girl, that hawk 
which hunts on the street as it goes to the shop 
in the morning, as it saunters along bare-headed 
after luncheon, and in the evening as it goes home. 

Happy at the chance to talk of former times, 
she said : “If you only knew what rascals we 
were, and what tricks we used to play! We used 
to tell each other about them every day. If you 
only knew how we used to make fun of the men ! 

“ The first trick that I played was about an um- 
brella. I had an old alpaca one of which I was 
ashamed. One day, as I was going to the shop, the 
tall Louise asked me : ‘ How do you dare to go out 
with that ? ’ 

“ ‘ But I have no other, and funds are low.’ 

“ Funds were always low ! 

“She answered: ^ Go get one at the Made- 
leine.’ 


HOPE 


309 


“Naturally I was surprised at this remark; but 
she continued: “That is where we all get ours; 
there are as many there as you may wish for.’ And 
she explained the whole matter to me. It is very 
simple. 

“ Well, I set out for the Madeleine with Irma. 
We went to the sexton and we explained to him 
how we had lost an umbrella the preceding week. 
Then he asks us if we can remember what kind of 
handle it had, and I describe some kind of agate 
knob. He leads us into a room where there are 
about fifty lost umbrellas ; we look at them all, but 
cannot find mine ; but I choose a fine one with a 
beautiful carved ivory handle. Louise went to claim 
it a few days later. She described it without see- 
ing it, and it was unhesitatingly given to her. To 
do this we used to wear our best clothes.” 

She was laughing and opening and closing the 
cigar-box. 

She continued : “ Oh, we used to have some 

funny times ! There were five of us in the atelier, 
four of us quite ordinary-looking and one very hand- 
some, the beautiful Irma. She was very distin- 
guished and had a lover in the State Council. But 
that did not stop her from having a good time. One 
winter’s day she said to us : ‘ Girls, I know a good 
one.’ And she told us her idea. 

“You know Irma was very stylish, and she had 
a figure which upset most men. Well, she said she 
had an idea that would make us a hundred francs 
apiece with which to buy rings and so forth. She 
arranged the matter as follows: 


310 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


You know that I was not rich at that time, nor 
were the others; things were not very prosperous; 
we were earning a hundred francs a month at the 
shop, not a sou more. We had to find something. 
I know that each of us had two or three lovers who 
gave us a little something, but not very much. 
Sometimes, during our noon stroll, it happened 
that we would hook some gentleman who would re- 
turn the following day. But those men never bring 
in much. Those of Chatou were only for pleasure ! 
Oh ! if you only knew the tricks that we had 1 
Really, some of them were funny enough to make 
you die of laughter ! Therefore when Irma proposed 
to us a way of making a hundred francs we were 
fired by the idea. What I am going to tell you is 
very naughty, but that makes no difference; you 
know life, and then . . . when one has spent 

four years at Chatou . . . 

“ Well, she said to us : ' We are going to the 

ball of the Opera. The most distinguished and rich- 
est men of Paris are there. I know them.^ 

“ We did not believe her at first, but it was true; 
for those men are not meant for milliners; perhaps 
for Irma, but not for us; oh, no! Oh, that Irma 
was so stylish ! You know that at the shop we used 
to say that if the Emperor had known her he would 
undoubtedly have married her. 

“ She dressed us up in our best clothes and 
said: ‘You are not to go in to the ball; each one 
of you is to stay in a cab in one of the neighbouring 
streets. A gentleman will come and get into the 
cab. As soon as he has climbed in you are to kiss 


HOPE 


3II 

him as sweetly as you can; and then you are to 
cry out to show that you have made a mistake, that 
you were expecting somebody else. The thought 
that he is taking some one else’s girl will excite 
him, and he will want to stay, anyhow; you will do 
all that you can to drive him away . . . and 

then . . . you will take supper with him. Then 
he will owe you damages.’ 

'‘You don’t understand, do you? Well, this is 
what the rascal did. She made all four of us get 
into four very stylish-looking carriages, which she 
stationed in streets neighbouring the Opera. Then 
she went to the ball all alone. As she knew by 
name the most prominent men in Paris, because our 
firm supplied their wives, she picked out one of 
them. She talked to him and amused him, for she 
was very witty. When she saw that he was well 
excited, she took off her domino and he was caught 
in the net. He wished to take her away immedi- 
ately, and she promised to meet him in half an hour 
in a cab opposite Number Twenty of the Rue Tait- 
bout. It was I who was in that carriage! I was 
well wrapped up and heavily veiled. So, suddenly, 
a gentleman popped his head through the door and 
asked : ‘ Is that you ? ’ 

“I answered in a low voice: ‘Yes, it is I; get 
in quickly.’ 

“ He gets in and I take him in my arms and kiss 
him and hug him so hard that I almost choke him ; 
then I continue : ‘ Oh, how happy I am 1 ’ 

“ And suddenly I exclaim : ‘ But it is not you !• 
Heavens ! Heavens ! ’ And I begin to cry. 


312 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


“ You can imagine how embarrassed the man 
was ! At first he tries to console me ; he makes ex- 
cuses, protests that he also has made a mistake! 
I was still crying, but not so hard; and I was 
heaving great sighs. Then he told me very sweet 
things. He was a very proper gentleman, and it 
amused him to watch me stop crying little by 
little. 

“ To make a long story short, he suddenly in- 
vited me to supper. I refused; I tried to escape 
from the carriage; he held me back, and then he 
kissed me as I had kissed him when he entered the 
carriage. 

“ And then . . . and then . . . we . . . 
had supper . . . you understand . . . and he 
gave me . . . guess ... he gave me five hun- 
dred francs ! Aren’t some men generous ? 

“ Well, the affair was a success for everybody. 
It was Louise who got the least — she made only two 
hundred francs. But you know, really, Louise was 
too thin ! ” 

The woman kept rattling on, emptying all the 
memories from her heart, which had been closed 
for so long. The whole sordid yet merry past was 
moving her soul. She regretted the gallant and 
bohemian life of the Parisian streets, composed 
of privations and of paid caresses, of laughter 
and of misery, of cunning and of love, true at 
times. 

“ But how did you get your tobacco shop ? ” I 
asked her. 

She answered, smiling: Oh, that is quite a 


HOPE 


313 


story! Next door to me in the same house lived a 
law student^ — one of those students who never do 
anything. This one lived in a cafe from morning 
until night; and he loved billiards better than he 
ever loved anybody in his whole life. 

“ When I was alone we sometimes spent the 
evening together. It is from him that I have 
Roger.” 

“Who is Roger?” 

“ Mv son.” 

“ Ah 1 ” 

“ He settled a small income on me with which to 
bring up the boy; but I was pretty sure that that 
fellow would never be of any use to me, the more so 
that I never saw a man who was quite so lazy, 
never. After ten years he had not yet passed his 
first examination. When his family saw that they 
could get no work out of him, they had him come 
home; but we kept up a correspondence on account 
of the child. And then — just imagine — two years 
ago, at the last elections, I hear that he has been 
elected deputy ! And he made speeches in the 
House. ' In the kingdom of the blind,’ as the prov- 
erb says. But, to conclude, I went to see him, 
and he immediately got me a tobacco-stand, on the 
grounds that my father had been deported. It was 
true that he had been deported, but I never thought 
that that would ever be of any use to me. 

“ Well. . . . Ah, here is Roger I ” 

A very correctly dressed, tall, serious-looking 
young man entered. He kissed his mother, who 
turned to me and said : “ There, Monsieur, this is 


3*4 


GUY DE MAUPASSANT 


my son, the chief clerk to the Mayor. . , . You 
know. . . . He is a future sub-prefect.” 

I gravely bowed to this representative of the gov- 
ernment, shook hands seriously with Hope, and 
went back to the hotel. 


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